The Hummingbird's Flight
by TX.Bluebonnet
Summary: With a father obsessed with money and a disintegrating family, Rachel runs away from home. When she meets Connor, she discovers a new life – one of trust, equality, and love. When she finds out dark secrets from her family's past, she is never the same. (Not good at these - better description inside!)
1. Prologue

_A/N: This story is set after the events of ACIII. *All I own is the plot and the OCs. Everything else belongs to Ubisoft*_

_The first few chapters are setting up the OC and the situation, so they are a little bit slow, but don't worry, excitement (and of course Connor) comes in very soon! _

_We all know that Connor married/had children, because otherwise Desmond wouldn't exist. That led me to wonder what kind of woman Connor would have fell in love with. Would she be stubborn or gentle? A fellow Assassin or a normal citizen? How did they meet and fall in love? This story is me exploring one possibility of what his wife could be like. _

_Please review, but be gentle - this is my first fanfiction! :)_

_Rated M to be safe for the future, for violence and suggestive themes. Also, I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible, but I am taking some liberties with a few things to make it fit the story. _

* * *

"The knowledge that makes us cherish innocence makes innocence unattainable." Irving Howe

* * *

PROLOGUE

1776

The crowd was deafening, hurling insults and curses upon the man approaching the scaffold. Standing there with her father and siblings, the girl was uncomfortable. She did not want to witness this, but her father had dragged her and her brothers and sisters to this place to look upon the man who had plotted to kill George Washington. Her father, being the outspoken patriot that he was, wanted to watch the execution, and took his middle children with him, the smallest two being two young to see such a thing, and the three oldest being otherwise occupied.

The girl was the youngest out of the present siblings, at 14. Her eldest brothers hadn't wanted her to attend, but her father had insisted. It was to be a lesson of what happened to traitors, he had said when his friend had come to fetch them. The girl hadn't thought much of what being witness at a hanging really entailed, but now that she was here, she wished to shut her eyes and go home.

"Are you alright, Rachel?" Her brother Samuel asked, able to see the horror already written on his young sister's face. Although her face was a pale white, she nodded, and he rested a hand on her shoulder in comfort before giving a disapproving look to his father. The child should never have been here. None of them should have been here. Their father should not have brought his children into his own affairs, but there was nothing that could be done now.

As the traitor approached, the girl wondered why he had plotted to kill Washington. Why would anyone want to kill him? Such hate and violence wasn't something she yet understood or was familiar with, especially since she had been raised in a wealthy household away from most of the cruelty of the war.

The native man walked forward, flanked by two soldiers. Despite the horrible words being hurled at him, he looked straight ahead, no despair showing in his face. How could he not be afraid? As the girl curiously watched him, she noticed his terrible appearance. Blood had dripped down his shirt, creating a large stain on the front. He had obviously been beaten, face cut and swollen. Despite his actions, the girl found herself feeling sympathy for him.

"I have heard he is innocent," her older sister muttered. "Henry said that he heard the man was wrongly accused."

"Abigail," Samuel warned. "Not here."

Suddenly, he stopped before the scaffold, staring it down as if it was an opponent in battle. By chance, his glance met Rachel's. She stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to turn away from his weary face.

Just as he let his eyes fall to the ground, a woman standing just next to the family broke out of the crowd, punching him hard across the face. Rachel gasped, hand flying to her mouth as her brother's hand tightened on her shoulder. The man fell to his knees and didn't acknowledge his attacker, even when she hurled a glob of spit at him. As quickly as she appeared, though, she was pushed back by an elderly man who knelt next to the prisoner, speaking hushed words to him. Rachel couldn't make it out, but the young man's voice resonated in response, surprisingly strong and insistent despite his weary state.

"Don't worry about me," he insisted. Rachel couldn't make out the rest of his words as he was pulled up by a man who whispered taunts into his ear. Pushing him towards the stairs to the scaffold, the finely clothed man looked quite satisfied, a sick smile evident on his face.

"I can't watch this," Abigail whispered.

"Brothers. Sisters. Fellow patriots," a loud voice began. The voice belonged to a man of obvious high rank, who was standing upon the scaffold.

"Charles Lee," Samuel explained.

"Several days ago, we learned of a scheme so vile, so dastardly, that even repeating it now, disturbs my being." As he walked across the stage, hands making large gestures as his dynamic voice echoed through the streets, the prisoner watched him. His chin was held high with pride, but there was no arrogance in his face.

"The man before you plotted to murder our much beloved General." Boos erupted from the crowd. "Indeed. What darkness or madness moved him, none can say. And he himself utters no defense. Shows no remorse. And though we have begged and pleaded with him to share what he knows, he maintains a deadly silence." As the Lee covered the young man's face with a sack, a sick feeling grew in Rachel's stomach. How could she watch this? "If the man will not explain himself, if he will not confess and atone, what other option do we have, but this? He sought to send us into the arms of the enemy! And thus we are compelled by justice to send him from this world." Raising his arm to give the signal, a look of satisfaction spread across Lee's face.

"May God have mercy on your soul."

Rachel tried to close her eyes, to turn her head, to drop her eyes... Anything to keep her from watching. She had not even been able to witness a chicken slaughtered for her table, and her father had brought her here! Still, she could not take her eyes away from the scene.

The floor fell away and the man flailed as he choked on his own weight. It was then that she buried her face in her brother's chest, tears welling up in her eyes. Regardless of what this man had done, she didn't want to watch him die. She couldn't. Samuel smoothed her hair, comforting her as best he could.

Rachel expected a cheer to rise from the crowd, signaling his death, but instead all that came from their mouths were screams. Jerking her head up, she stared in disbelief as she watched the rope be severed by a flying axe, thrown with absolute precision. People were running now, unsure of what was going on and afraid for what was going to happen. In the chaos, Rachel lost track of her family. Frozen with uncertainty, she watched as the breathless man hobbled away from the scaffold, a weapon in his hand as he made for the same man who had taunted him earlier. As he started running towards the fleeing man, Rachel felt a tug on her arm as her brother pulled her away.

She looked back just in time to see the former prisoner kill the man, brutally hitting him with his weapon before standing over his body.

"Rachel, come on!" Wrenching her eyes away, she ran, following her brother. She had witnessed death, and she would not ever be the same because of it.

* * *

_*Disclaimer: Lee's speech is obviously not mine, whatsoever. Neither is the events of this scene that don't have to do with my OCs.*_


	2. Chapter 1

"I do not wish women to have power over men; but over themselves." Mary Wollstonecraft, 1759-1797

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

April, 1783

Disgust. That is what she felt coursing through her veins as she was forced to dance with this greasy excuse for a man. His language was coarse and too vulgar for her liking as he attempted to converse with her. Wanting nothing more but to be away from him, she nodded and gave polite answers as she had been taught, offering the smallest response that would be considered acceptable. Keeping up with his unwanted advances was tiring, and she was completely relieved when the dance ended.

As she passed her father, she gave him a look, trying to convey her displeasure, but her father simply stared back emotionless, not showing any concern for her discomfort. After what seemed like an hour, she finally found a familiar face within the crowd. Sighing, she wove her way between her father's friends before she reached her friend.

"Have you survived the wandering hands of Robert Smith?" She jested, trying to bring a smile to her friend's face, but little did she know...

"Sarah, it was terrible. It's no wonder he's so old and still hasn't taken a wife. He was crude and I imagine he has not bathed in a very long time." Shaking her head, she glanced back at the man across the room, his chubby, greasy face a stark contrast to her father's proper, cleanly appearance. Before she could look away, Robert caught her eye, looking at her hungrily. Shudders ran through her as she turned back to her friend. "In all honesty, I was quite offended by his lack of manners."

Sarah laughed, amused at the irony.

"Of all people, Rachel, I would never have chosen you to be one concerned with propriety. I do recall that just the other day you were traipsing through the mud within the sights of your father's guests."

Laughing, she pushed Sarah away playfully. "Father had my hide for that, you know. I fear I will never live it down! Of course my brothers received no punishment," she sighed, annoyance rising at the memory of how her father had reacted. "Perhaps I am not concerned with propriety, but certainly a certain amount of common decency is quite attractive in a man."

"And now you insinuate that a man is better judged by his manner than anything else! My word, I really have no idea where my Rachel has gone off to!"

"She is before you, she is just reeling from a rather unpleasant experience and is perhaps not quite herself. See what this Robert has done to me already!"

After a look of sympathy for the latter part of her statement, Sarah eyed a passing young man before turning back to her friend, giggling.

"As for me, I prefer the ones with a handsome face."

"How shallow can you be?" The two girls laughed together, giggling at their own behavior and thoughts. Most girls would have been offended if Rachel had said something like that, but not Sarah. The girl had been her best friend since she could remember, and often times she considered her more of a sister than her own blood.

"Does it matter not to you if they lack wit or even common sense?"

Rolling her eyes, Sarah gave the girl next to her a smile. "And what do _you_ seek in a man?" Though Sarah had been only continuing their banter, Rachel's face grew a bit more serious, a slight smile hidden on her lips.

"A man with a loyal, humble and compassionate heart, with kind eyes and a smile given freely and often. Perhaps I would even be so bold as to wish for one who considers the worth of a person despite the place from which they come."

Sarah gave her a small smile. Her friend had never quite fit the expectations of a proper young lady. As a child she had insisted on playing outside with her brothers, riding horses bareback or playing swords with wooden sticks. Though her father disapproved of the behavior, he let it be at the gentle urgings of his wife. When Rachel's mother had died, though, her father grew stern, eventually forcing her into a mold to which she did not belong.

"That might prove rather difficult to find. Luckily, all I require is a handsome face and strong arms to hold me."

"Oh Sarah, you are terrible."

Leaning closer to Rachel as if to share a secret, Sarah continued with a mischievous look upon her face. "Surely, though, if he was a good lover, it would overcome the lack of anything else," she said in a hushed tone. Rachel bursted into a fit of giggles and struggled to control herself, knowing the look of disapproval she would receive if her father noticed her behavior, not to mention the harsh scolding.

"Well surely," Rachel responded, not making any effort to conceal her words, "surely this Robert Smith is none of these qualities, and therefore I will put any ideas out of my father's head."

"You don't think he would do that, do you?"

"In all honesty, I do not doubt it. I am nearly twenty one, and he is anxious to see me married. Though he lacks in any honorable qualities, Mr. Smith certainly does not lack in money, and of course my father desires more of that."

"But surely he would not force you if you truly were against it."

"I don't know, Sarah," she muttered, slumping against the wall. "It is as if I have no idea who he is now. He has already arranged Elizabeth into a marriage to a man she does not know. At least her and Richard seem to have the potential to love each other someday, but I know my sister. She does not love him."

"Why does she not refuse?"

"I don't know. Perhaps she doesn't want to bring any more dishonor onto our family, or maybe she still craves my father's love even though we all should realize by now that he will not give it." Tired of speaking of such a morose subject, Rachel stood up again and distracted her friend with a man, something she knew would always work. Before she could point him out, however, she heard her name behind her.

"Rachel, I must speak with you," her father stated in a matter-of-fact tone. Turning, she searched her father's eyes, hoping for a sign of any kind of hope, but found none. Fear grew in her belly as she gave a polite, emotionless goodbye to her friend. Sarah watched her leave, wishing she could do more for her.

On the way to her father's study, Rachel passed many of her family members. Her brother Samuel danced with his fiance, bliss on both of their faces as they completed the steps, seemingly content to be even in each others company. Her sister Abigail showed off her young son with her doting husband. Then there was Elizabeth, a sour look on her face as she stood near her betrothed. Seeing her unhappiness only raised the fears within Rachel, who worried she would never be able to feel the happiness of Samuel, Abigail or her oldest brother, Isaac. Not only the experience of loving someone you weren't forced to, but also the freedom of not having to answer to her father.

It seemed her younger siblings were still carefree, despite the fact that they were quite old enough to act more mature. Hannah and George looked grotesquely bored as they sat around, making polite conversation as they waited for the party to end. As they moved past the hall filled with people and moved into a more secluded part of the house, Rachel silently wished she could see the faces that were not here. A pang of sorrow ran through her as she thought of the brother she would never again laugh with, and the two that might never tease her again.

Just as her father disappeared behind the doors of his study, a pair of dark eyes found hers. Apology filled the eyes of her stand-in mother, one of the family's slaves that had helped raise all 9 of the Beeson children, and stepped in even more when their mother had died in childbirth. Harriet was without a doubt the person she was closest to within her own home, save perhaps her brother Samuel. To no one else, even Sarah, was Rachel able to share her honest and innermost feelings.

Harriet pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head slightly, giving validity to Rachel's fears. As her father called her in, Rachel wished she could turn and run, far away from what she knew to be coming. Her father shut the door behind her and beckoned for her to sit in the chair in front of his desk. It was a large, heavy wooden desk, and Rachel had often hidden there playing hide and seek with her brothers.

"Rachel." Her father's voice brought her out of her memories, and she looked up at him, doing all she could to keep a calm face. For a moment, compassion flashed in his eyes. Love. For a moment, she thought she had been wrong. Perhaps he wouldn't do this to her after all. He turned away then, facing the window as she braced herself.

"A man has asked for your hand, and I have accepted."

She stood, hand raising to her stomach as if to keep her breathing steady by force. For a moment, she said nothing, simply watching her father. Willing him to turn, to tell her he was jesting, to embrace her and apologize for all these years of casting her away. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath as she realized he would never look at her and feel pride. He would never feel unconditional love, would never put her own wishes and happiness above his lust for money. When she opened here eyes, rage was running thick through her veins.

"You have accepted?" She yelled, trying to lure him into losing his own temper. "So I am not to accept my own future husband? Unless you will be bearing his children and coking his meals, I shall decide who I marry. Not you."

As stubborn as her mother, he thought before he turned. It was no matter, however. All people could be broken, eventually.

"It is a good marriage, Rachel."

"For me or for you," she spat back at him, still trying to draw him into the fight. Instead, he stood tall behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back as if this was a business deal.

"He is wealthy and he will provide for you. Is that not a valuable aspect of a man? Do you wish to fend for yourself in this world?"

"Do not make excuses for this, father. I would marry a poor farmboy if I loved him," she yelled, oblivious to the fact that she could well be heard by the party guests. Finally, her father's stern expression cracked slightly, annoyance beginning to shine through.

"You frivolous girl. Life is not from a story book. Love is rare, and it is not worth it to pass over perfectly good men for the sole reason of waiting to possibly find someone you are drawn to."

"So you would marry your children off just so that you may get ahead in life! What will happen when you stand at heaven's gates with empty pockets? Jewels do not travel to heaven with their owners. When you look down upon me and I am miserable because you wished to experience the joy of money, how will you feel then? Rich? Or will you feel like the poorest man on the planet?" Finally, she drew him out of his calm mask. He lashed out, anger contorting his face.

"Do not ever dare to speak to me that way. I do this because I must. I do this for you!"

"I will not marry him."

He raised his hand as if to hit her, and as she ducked away, there was a knock on the door.

"Is everything alright, William? I heard yelling," a voice called from behind the door. Rachel recognized the voice as her father's business partner, and knew she was in for it for embarrassing her father in front of him.

"Go upstairs, and stay there until morning."

Angry and full of youthful pride, Rachel turned without acknowledging him and threw the door open, only to have two concerned pairs of eyes resting on her. Bowing her head slightly, she acknowledged the man before her.

"Mr. Clark," she addressed him respectfully before giving a last glance to her father and striding up the stairs, shoulders proudly back and hands in fists at her sides. Harriet laid a hand on Rachel's arm, but she wrenched it away, running up the stairs and into her room, shutting the door behind her. She regretted the rejection of comfort instantly, but she knew Harriet would know she didn't mean to hurt her feelings. She simply needed to be alone.

After she calmed down, she realized she never even asked the man's name. Of course her first instinct was Robert Smith, after the events of the night, but perhaps she had been too hasty in her assumptions. It mattered not who it was, though. The fact was that her father was forcing her into a marriage for his own personal gain.

The door opened softly, and Rachel didn't have to look to know who it was.

"I have brought you some bread, if you are hungry." Harriet's voice was soft and comforting, but Rachel was not yet ready for company. She never dealt well with sympathy and preferred to grieve and suffer in private, only coming out when she had dealt with her feelings.

"Thank you," she muttered.

"I am so sorry," Harriet whispered, her voice barely audible. "Of all of you, I wanted you to find a life you would be happy in."

"Who is it?" Closing her eyes, she waited to hear the name of her apparent fiancé.

"Rachel..."

"Just tell me." There was silence. Harriet didn't want to answer, knowing this would devastate Rachel.

"Thomas Bradshaw."

Shooting out of bed, Rachel scowled.

"No! I would rather have Robert Smith! Smith may be unpleasant, but Thomas is cruel, Harriet. How could my father accept his proposal?" Horror seeped through her. She had not talked much to Thomas Bradshaw, but she knew his reputation well. The son of one of the wealthiest men in Boston, he grew up with a disregard for all but himself. He was cruel to those who served him and crueler to women. The things she had heard... The women he had... No. She would never marry him. "Who am I trying to fool. Of course, all my father sees is the money."

All he had ever seen was the money, the status, the titles... With all that, though, came the hard reality that he had never truly seen his own daughter.

* * *

_A/N: I was SO glad to find a quote from the exact time period, by a woman who was just a few years older than Rachel would be. Please excuse the history nerd within me... ;) _

_List of OCs:_

_Robert Smith: A wealthy, affluent albeit crude and disgusting man in his 40s. A friend of William Beeson._

_Sarah: Rachel's best friend._

_Rachel Beeson: A 20 year old daughter of a wealthy man, and the 7th of 9 children._

_Elizabeth Beeson: Rachel's 23 year old sister, who is engaged to a man named Richard, who she hardly knows._

_Samuel Beeson: Rachel's 27 year old brother, and the sibling with which she is closest. Will soon be getting married._

_William Beeson: Rachel's father._

_Abigail Beeson: Rachel's 25 year old sister, who is married and has a young son._

_George Beeson: Rachel's 17 year old brother._

_Charity Beeson: Mother to all 9 of the Beeson children. She died when Rachel was 7._

_Hannah Beeson: Rachel's 19 year old sister._

_Isaac Beeson: Rachel's 29 year old brother, who lives in Virginia with his wife and his three children._

_Thomas Bradshaw: The man that Rachel's father wants her to marry. He is extremely wealthy and good looking, but has a reputation for being very cruel, especially towards women._


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: If you've even stuck through this far, first off - thank you! This is not only my first time sharing my writing with others, but it's also my first time writing in third person so I'm still trying to get used to how to make it flow well. With those two things in mind, I've been pretty nervous to post this on here! I really hope you'll stick it out, because usually my first few chapters aren't too great, since I'm eager to get to the exciting part... It's a bad habit I need to fix, but oh well!_

_Also, I would just like to say that my main OC lived in the late 1700s. If you expect her to be totally BA physically, go ahead and stop reading now. She's not an assassin, and she was raised as a proper young woman. Even though she resists that mold, she isn't going to magically learn hand to hand combat or anything of the sort. I'm hoping that she will be strong and somewhat of a BA in her own way, but just keep in mind the role of women in this time. They basically had zero rights, and had to get their father or husband's permission for everything, as the male represented the whole family. They were basically bred to be housewives and nothing more. This is the background that Rachel is coming from, and though she is eager to find her own way, she isn't going to have instant talent with a sword or anything. If none of that bothers you, please read on. :)_

* * *

"No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path." Buddha

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

Her sisters giggled and gossiped as she lay upon the bed, wishing the foolish creatures would quiet down. Did they have no regard for anyone but themselves? Throughout the day, the slightest things had been annoying her, and the carefree laughs of her sisters were among them.

"Rachel, come! Let me braid your hair before bed."

Softening at the invitation, she rebuked herself. It wasn't their fault that she was to marry such a horrid representative of the scourge of all men – she shouldn't be taking out her problems on them. Putting on a smile, she walked to the small vanity set against the wall. She watched as her younger sister plaited her hair under the watchful eye of their elder sister. Elizabeth gave the fifteen year old suggestions and comments every now and then as she tried a complicated braid for the first time. When she finally completed it, a triumphant smile spread across her face, making Rachel smile softly.

"Sit, I will do yours," she offered, vacating her seat for the younger girl. As Rachel brushed her sister's hair, she prayed that the girl would be able to escape this place someday – that she would have all the fortune she herself had been deprived of.

"How beautiful you have become, Hannah," Rachel whispered. "I don't know where our child of a sister has gone!" Hannah smiled up at her bashfully, happy for the compliment. It was true, though. Hannah was quite pretty, her long red hair falling in soft waves upon her shoulders. All of her sisters were beautiful, actually, yet Rachel had always felt she looked nothing like them. While her sisters had taken after their mother, she had taken after her father. Her sisters were fair-haired and blue-eyed, tall with lithe bodies. In contrast, Rachel had brown hair and eyes, and was often reminded of her wide hips.

"Perfect child-bearing hips," Harriet would always tell her. "You will be thankful someday!"

As she grew, she accepted the way she looked, though, not feeling inferior because she felt her sisters more beautiful than she. Perhaps, in her own way, she was beautiful as well – it was just in a more understated way. Her beauty did not stun strangers as she passed, but perhaps it was still and quiet, like a field of flowers in the spring.

"What troubles you," Elizabeth asked, well aware of the absent look in her sister's eyes.

"I don't wish to speak of it," she responded quietly. "Perhaps later, when my mind is clearer."

Nodding with pursed lips, Elizabeth took the brush from her, recognizing the weariness of both mind and body that was well displayed in her mannerisms.

"Get some rest, Rachel," she urged gently, using her motherly tone. Rachel obliged without fuss, climbing into her welcoming bed. Sleep overcame her quickly, but though she sought relief in dreams of what her future could have been, she received none.

The morning was crisp and clear, only a slight chill in the damp air. Spring was being ushered in, evident by the chorus of birds filling the air. The grass caressed her bare feet as she walked the perimeter of the house, attempting to clear her head and her heart. None were yet awake, and she relished the time before the day began – especially today, when she was sure that she would have to answer to her father again. Anger rushed through her, but she tried to calm herself. Thinking about her predicament wasn't the reason she had come out here.

As she passed the small shed near the house, she heard voices coming from within. Unsure of who was out of the house so early, she walked silently to the outside wall of the wooden shed, wanting to make sure it wasn't simply her brothers being mischievous before she went to report the suspicious incident to Samuel. Instead of hearing the voice of strangers or her brothers, she heard a familiar deep rumbling within the thin walls.

"I have obtained the plans of the Continentals, but I do not see how it will benefit us now that congress seems to be seeking official peace. A treaty seems not far off," Rachel's father muttered. Her head was thick with confusion as she flattened herself against the wooden wall. What was he talking about?

"Perhaps," another man responded. "But there are those still as loyal to the crown as we. Many, in fact. We are making plans to weaken the Continentals enough that Britain may be given an ample opportunity to regain strength."

"Do we have enough force?"

"Yes."

Considering this, her father was silent. "A group of soldiers are coming up from Charleston on their way to Boston. They will be vulnerable from the journey, and I hear many in the group are young and inexperienced. Perhaps a large victory will draw other supporters out of hiding."

"I will pass the knowledge to my captain. Thank you, William."

"It is my pleasure to support the crown," he responded. "But I do recall that I was to be payed for this information."

Disgust filled Rachel as she fled. She seldom cried, but tears were threatening to unravel her. Determined not to cry, she took a deep breath and walked on. How could he? How could he betray everything he had claimed to stand for, just for money! He had betrayed his own son... Her own brother, who had been fighting for the Continental army since he had turned eighteen. She was sick with emotion. Truly, the father she had once known as a small child was gone, replaced by this monster who would sell his own children for gain.

She could not be part of this anymore. She would not. No longer would she be used as a pawn in his schemes for money and power. Certainly, she was worth more than that.

Her decision was made before she even entered the house. How had it taken this to show her that it needed to be done, she did not know. Though she knew what she had do to, remorse still held her will captive. Sam would be so distraught at her departure, and she would have to miss his wedding... Perhaps... No. She had to leave, had to get away to a place where she would have control of her own life.

She would travel to Virginia, where her eldest brother lived with his family. Isaac and Rebekah would welcome her, and she could earn her stay by caring for her nieces and nephew. Plans began to fall into place, and she slowly began to collect items for her journey; a set of old clothing from George, one he had grown out of and would not miss, bread from the kitchens, needed for at least the first few days of travel. She knew she would need money, but decided not to take it until the morning of her departure, so that there was a smaller chance of her father discovering its absence.

The day before she was to leave was like an out of body experience. Going about her every day activities, speaking about the future knowing she wouldn't be part of her family members' lives was strange to her. She listened to her sisters' gossip, talked about Sam's wedding with her future sister-in-law and let Harriet teach her how to sew. She was terrible at it, but Harriet didn't mind, telling her that she would help her again the next day and leaving a pang of regret deep in her stomach.

The oddest thing, though, was when her father called her into his office. Highly upset by everything that had happened in the past week, she had avoided him from the moment she decided to leave. It was uncomfortable to be alone with him now, especially since the little trust in him left had been obliterated. He obviously felt the stiffness in the room as well, clearing his throat awkwardly before speaking.

"About the marriage," he began.

Voice lacking all emotion, Rachel cut him off.

"I will marry him," she stated simply, staring straight into his eyes. Shock spread across his face as he spent a moment in silence before regaining control of his tongue and relief spread across his face.

"I am very pleased, Rachel."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

Without another word, she walked off calmly, smirking to herself at the irony of what she had just said. If only he knew...

The night before she was to leave, she spent extra time bidding her siblings goodnight, even indulging in hugs for each of them. Samuel was the only one to notice that something was amiss, although his questioning was easily quelled.

"Why so much affection, sister?" He raised an eyebrow at her, studying her face intently. Suddenly, she found that she couldn't meet his eyes, anxiety running through her as she tried not to give herself away.

"Can I not hug my brother?"

"Of course, but..." Trailing off, a strange look crossed his face. She had been worried that he knew, but gave him a smile in reassurance.

"I just realized that soon you will be leaving us. I will miss you," she said as she embraced him again.

"There are too many emotional women in this house," he laughed, ruffling her hair. Punching him playfully in the arm, she watched him walk away before realizing how hard it really would be to leave her family, particularly Samuel.

Excusing herself from supper early with claims of a headache, she went upstairs to write her farewell letters. They were more difficult to compose than she had previously thought, especially the one to Harriet. She knew the woman would be heartbroken and longed to tell her that she would be safe with her brother, but fought the urge. None could know of her destination, for surely her father would find out, especially if she left written evidence.

In the end, she found herself writing only to Harriet and Samuel. She had originally planned on writing to all her siblings, but then decided it was better to only leave a message for Harriet. Later, though, while she was considering all she would miss out on, she decided to write to Samuel to apologize for the fact that she would not be at his wedding.

Letters finished, clothes and food hidden away, she lay down, trying to get as much sleep as she possibly could before dawn.

* * *

_List of new OCs:_

_Harriet (forgot to add her last chapter): A slave of the Beeson family, who acted at the nurse/stand in mother for the Beeson children when Mrs. Beeson died. One of the three people that Rachel is closest to._

_Isaac Beeson: Rachel's eldest brother. He lives in Virginia with his wife and three children._

_Rebekah Beeson: Isaac's wife, and Rachel's sister-in-law._


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N: A huge thank you to all who followed and reviewed! It's definitely encouragement to keep up with the story! I had the first few chapters done before I posted, so luckily that means frequent updates, at least for a little while! :)_

_Shoutout to Lilith Marx and Ekendall1216 for leaving my very first reviews ever! It is very much appreciated! _

_A note about the historical context: I am doing my best to make it fairly accurate, but I'm no historian [yet... ;)] and I know I will probably make mistakes, despite doing some research on the period. If anyone notices anything grossly inaccurate, feel free to let me know and I will do my best to fix it! _

_This chapter is fairly short in comparison to what I normally write, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! _

* * *

"Women need real moments of solitude and self-reflection to balance out how much of ourselves we give away." Barbara de Angelis

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

Anxiety destroyed any hope she had for sleep. All night, Rachel tossed and turned in her bed, staring up at the ceiling as she ran through her plans in her mind, over and over again. The bed that had provided her comfort for her whole life was now failing her when she needed it most, suddenly seeming lumpy and hard as she begged herself to sleep. Just when she had begun to drift off, the morning chorus of birds wrestled her from her light slumber, signaling that dawn would soon be approaching.

Sitting up, she tried to move slowly and silently, not wanting to wake her sisters. Carefully pulling herself out of the bed and onto her feet, her eyes were glued to the still forms in the beds next to her. Eyes playing tricks on her as she crossed the room, she stopped every few steps, waiting to be sure that they were only shifting position and not stirring from their sleep. When she was finally clear of the door, she heaved a breath in relief, only to remember that she still had to place the letters in a place where their recipients would find them.

With letters safely placed in their spots and the money she had taken safely stored in her bag, she walked quickly out to the stables. Fumbling in the chill of the spring morning, she stripped herself of her night clothing and replaced them with her brother's old ones. She felt terrifyingly vulnerable as she changed, despite the fact that she knew none would come past so early. George's clothes felt so constricting to her, yet also so freeing at the same time. Dressed in breeches and stockings, she would be able to run without hiking up her oversized skirts. She wanted to try it out, but busied herself with putting on the rest of her clothes, knowing she didn't have time for games.

She had been worried that her womanly figure would be noticeable despite the waistcoat and coat to conceal her chest, but she felt better now that they were on. The fact that she had bound her breasts had helped, too, although she wasn't sure she could last long with the discomfort of it. At least it was more comfortable than the boned corset she had to wear much of the time. Tying her hair into a ponytail, she tucked the excess into her coat. She had meant to cut it short to make her disguise more credible, but when she held the shears to her hair, she couldn't bear to cut it. The only thing that occupied her mind was one of the sparse memories of her mother. She would brush her hair, reveling in its thickness and color. As a small child, when her mother had been the most beautiful of all women that had ever existed, Rachel had wanted to look just like her, often praying for God to turn her blonde.

Dawn was beginning to break as she settled the hat low on her head, hoping it would conceal any femininity of her features. As she set off, it suddenly dawned on her that she was now a criminal. She had stolen her father's money, food from his kitchens, and worst of all, a horse. It was both thrilling and terrifying to know that, for once in her life, she had done something wrong without regret. As she rode on, guilt crept into the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it aside, refusing to feel remorse for any pain she had caused her father. The guilt she had for hurting her siblings and Harriet was something she would have to struggle with, but her pride refused to let her feel it for her father. If only he could see her now, he would be appalled at her appearance! Stifling a small laugh, she let the horse slow to a canter, figuring that she was far enough away to no longer need to press him at a heavy gallop.

She consulted the map a few times before finding the road that led south to Boston. Once she was sure she was going in the right direction, her thoughts began to wander. Instead of focusing on where she would sleep that night or where her meals would come from when she no longer had bread, Rachel's thoughts went back to her mother. How strange it was! She hadn't thought so much of her mother for such a long time, and a familiar pang of grief hit her as she tried to recall her features. The only image that came to mind, though, was a blank, fuzzy pale face surrounded by wavy golden hair. What color eyes did she have? Blue... Right? Surely they were blue, for people who had known her mother often commented on how so many of her siblings had inherited her eyes.

The exact color escaped her, though. Had they been a clear, ice blue, the color of the lapping stream near her home? Or had they been a rich, lively blue, the color of the cloudless summer sky, the kind that allowed the sun to warm her cheeks? No matter how hard she tried, Rachel couldn't seem to grasp the memory. It seemed to flit away just as she was about to grab it, evading her every attempt to claim it.

Sighing, she kept on. The day's ride was long, and when she finally dismounted, she was sore all over. Letting the mare drink from the small stream nearby, she dropped into the grass in an exhausted heap. It was only when she noticed a mist of rain covering her face that she began to feel foolish. She had been so focused on the initial escape that she hadn't even given the smallest thought to what she would do once she was alone in the wilderness. Paranoia soon set in, causing her to jump at the smallest noise.

Foolish she had been, indeed. Here she was sitting drenched in the middle of a forest, without the means or capability of protecting herself, no fire, and no earthly idea where she really was. Frustrated at her own impulsive decision, she crossed her arms and leaned against a rock, too afraid to close her eyes yet too fatigued to sit awake through the night. Loneliness made itself evident soon after, the gentle mare not offering much in the way of stimulating conversation.

Fumbling through the darkness with only her senses to guide her, she located two small branches, and after collecting kindling for a fire, she attempted to start a fire as she had seen her brothers do many times before. She wasn't sure if it was due to her poor technique or the moist leaves and branches, but despite trying to create a spark, all she created was a pair of very sore arms. Exhausted, hungry and defeated, she flung herself back onto the moist grass, staring longingly up at the sky. Luckily, the rain had withered away and the sky was beginning to clear, the moon giving her light by which to see.

As her eyelids began to droop, her mind flew back to home as she wondered what everyone was doing. Samuel and George were likely searching for her, probably getting Henry and Richard, her brothers-in-law, to help them. Perhaps her sisters were crying. Elizabeth and probably were, but Abigail likely just withdrew within herself, losing herself in chores and the care of her son. She envisioned Sarah sick with worry at the sudden absence of her friend, and Rachel felt guilt pass over her again. Harriet, though... Harriet would seem the strongest, the least affected, but in reality it would be her whose heart was truly distraught. Sighing, Rachel clutched her legs closer to her, trying to get warmer in the rain-cooled air. All she could do was pray that her family would forgive her.

She didn't expect to add her father to the list of those she wished would forgive her, but somehow her subconscious did it for her. There had been a time when she was small that he was her papa, a loving and gentle man with a boisterous laugh. He would take her in his arms when she fell from a tree attempting to climb after her brothers, or teach her how to play draughts. Somewhere deep within her, no matter how much she denied it, she longed for that man to come back to them. For years she had kept up hope that he would once again make her laugh or whisper endearments when she was losing hope, but as she grew and her naïvety faded, she was forced to realize that he wouldn't.

Hardened by the loss of his wife and further destroyed by the death of his son, he had turned away from the eager love of his family only to run into the beckoning arms of greed and lust for power. Sometimes, it was almost as if Rachel considered her papa and her father two different men. As she sank into sleep, she found her cheeks wet from a silent, cloudless rain.


	5. Chapter 4

_A/N: For some reason, I feel like this was a hard chapter to write... I'm just not too great at first meetings, haha! _

_Happy Good Friday, everyone! Enjoy the long weekend if you have one! _

* * *

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." Anais Nin

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

A loud noise woke her, jolting her from sleep. For a moment, she lay still, unsure if the loud bang had been from within her dream or from the outside world. When the noise rang out again, she shot up, recognizing it as a gunshot. Mind still thick with sleep, she couldn't process why there was a dead wolf not ten feet in front of her, fresh wound still bleeding. Just as she began to connect the shot with the wolf, a gruff voice barked at her from behind.

"Get up, boy!" Strong hands seized her arms, roughly jerking her to her feet. A hard boot made contact with her side as she struggled to resist the hold of these strangers. As she tried to twist out of their grasp, the hold on her only tightened.

"Now, where you goin' off to, boy?" The voice said again, cold eyes surveying her as she kept her head down, hoping the man wouldn't remove her hat. At her failure to answer, she felt the sting of the back of a hand across her cheek. Reeling, her hat flew to the ground, revealing her face. Her stomach clenched, but the dimwitted man seemed not to notice her blanching face. "I won't 'ave you disrespectin' me. I ask again - where you off to?"

"My uncle's," she muttered in a quiet, low voice, not meeting his cold glare. "My father sent me there to work for him. I travel with only the intent of arriving safely."

"Then I don't suppose you mind us takin' your belongings, do you boy?" At this, her head shot up in protest, eyes narrowing. "Way I sees it, you owe us for savin' your life," he said as he paced in front of her, gesturing to the dead wolf carcass laying not far from where she had been sleeping. "Givin' us your valuables should repay the debt."

Rachel wanted to throw up. She should never have come on this journey alone. Glancing up at the lightening dawn sky, an impulsive idea came to her. Risky, but possible. Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to muster man waited for a response, staring at her expectantly as the other thugs began to involuntarily slacken their hold on her arms. This was her chance.

Spitting on the ground in front of the leader of the trio in an act of defiance, she twisted out of the grasp of the other men, sprinting for her horse. When she realized that the men had drawn weapons and she wouldn't have a chance to mount, she ran past the mare, chest already heaving with exertion.

She could only stay ahead of them for so long. The men quickly gained on her, aided by the fact that she still wasn't completely alert. By the time she lost her footing and began to fall, she knew they would kill her. Saying a silent prayer, she asked God for it to be quick, and that he would spare her of a fate worse than death.

The man hurled insults and threats at her, the cruel words slicing quickly through the air to her ears, making her sick with anxiety and fear. He caught her by her ponytail, yanking her to her feet. As she struggled to get up at the odd angle to which he held her, the remainder of her hair came untucked from her coat and shirt.

Initially, surprise tumbled into his features, making way for a cruel smile.

"Well looky here," he called to his companions. "We have ourselves a runaway missus." She felt her eyes widen with terror as she watched his eyes run hungrily down her body. "Don't you worry nothin' about your things, miss. I do believe we can get our reward another way," he laughed as he handed her off to the other two men. This time, they had a death grip on her arms, protecting their newest bounty, and she felt as if they might fall off for lack of circulation. She needed to buy time to think of a way out... Any way.

"Do it," she dared, yelling to get the attention of anyone who may have been passing by. The road was not far off, and surely the trade carts would get an early start. Someone had to help her... Someone had to hear her screams. "I don't know that you could," she taunted, holding out her pinky finger in a silent implication. Fury engulfed his face at her demoralizing gesture, and he punched her hard across the face.

The taste of iron was strong in her mouth as blood mixed with saliva, and she spit as much of the red spray into his face as she could, leaving him further enraged. If she thought he was cruel before, the anger in his eyes brought forth utter terror within Rachel. If no one came for her, her death would surely be long and painful. For now, though, he settled with kneeing her in the stomach, causing her to double over. Better a beating than being stripped of her integrity, she thought. Better death than what she knew these men would do...

"A shame you bound your chest," he laughed as he ran a finger down her jaw, purposely trying to draw forth a rise of fear in her eyes. Instead, she challenged his stare, trying to seem fearless and unshakeable despite the all-encompassing dread knotting in her stomach.

"I'll scream," she warned.

"Go ahead. It's more fun that way."

As she watched him reach for the buckle of his breeches, she closed her eyes.

* * *

None of the four people below noticed him as he leaped between the trees, waiting for the precise moment to strike. This girl was resilient, he thought as he watched her refuse to let the men break her. Resilient indeed. With the leader of the small group of men distracted trying to free himself from his breeches, he positioned himself just above the woman and the two men who were holding her, calculating the exact jump he would have to make in order not to harm her. Just before he was about to make his move, one of the men let go of her, leaving only one other to keep hold of her. It took him only a moment to re-assess the situation, and he struck as soon as another plan was forged in his mind.

Dropping onto the man that held the woman's hands behind her, the kill was almost too easy as he buried his tomahawk into his back.

"Run," he urged the woman, who had turned to face him, wide-eyed and now vulnerable to the leader of the three from behind. Though he made quick work of the third man, when he turned back it was too late. The leader held her against him, a knife at her throat.

"Now, now," he warned, "wouldn't want this jewel gettin' hurt, now would we?"

"Let her be, and I will not harm you," Connor offered, stepping towards them. At his approach, the other man backed away, pressing the knife harder to the girl's throat and drawing blood. She winced but didn't cry out, simply staring ahead, refusing either to look at Connor or show fear to her captor.

"Drop your weapon or I'll slit her throat." Connor didn't doubt it, convinced by the trickle of blood pooling at the hollow of her throat that he would indeed kill her. Holding up his hands, he set his tomahawk on the grass, keeping his eyes glued to every movement of the other man.

As Connor began to take cautious steps forward, the other man began to panic.

"Step back," he warned, pressing the knife even harder against the girl, who sucked in a breath of pain, going rigid in his grasp as she involuntarily attempted to move away from the blade.

"I am not armed," Connor said as he kept moving forward, steps becoming bigger as he continued to hold his hands in the air. As Connor came within arm's distance, the man scuttled backwards, obviously feeling threatened. Just as he tensed his arm to take Rachel's life, he found himself with a blade in his own throat, produced from Connor's wrist.. Still clutching the girl, he fell backwards, blood seeping into her hair.

It was funny, because the precise moment when Rachel began to panic had been when she realized the man under her was truly dead. She shook with the understanding of what had almost happened to her as she wriggled off of the man's still warm body. The smell of blood sickened her as she crawled away, stopping on all fours as the bit of bread she had eaten the night before threatened to make another appearance.

Hanging her head, she took deep breaths, trying to calm herself as she realized that there was still someone watching her. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed him. He cleaned his blade, glancing at her every now and then, seeming to be giving her space. The first thing that struck him was how huge he was. Broad shouldered and at least a head taller than her, he seemed a giant to her, and his strong features made him intimidating and intriguing. The fact that he was obviously a native made him no less mysterious.

He caught her studying him and made his way over cautiously, not wanting to give her any reason not to trust him after what she had been through.

"Are you alright?" He inquired gently, bending down to her level.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but was unable to draw forth any words, forced to look away from his intense gaze. Holding out a hand to help her up, Connor stood, but the girl didn't take it. Stubbornly, she got up on her own, turning in circles as if to get her bearings.

"Your horse is just beyond the trees," he said, reading her searching eyes.

Nodding, she started in the direction he pointed. "Thank you. I must be on my way," she muttered, walking quickly through the trees.

Connor stood there for a moment watching her leave, dumbfounded that after all that had just happened, she was walking away so nonchalantly.

"Wait," he called, jogging to catch up with her. She didn't heed his request, though, only stopping once she reached her horse. "Where are you going?"

Rachel hesitated, still unsure whether she could trust this man. Surely though, if he wanted to hurt he would have already. "I am bound for my brother's home, where I plan to move in with him."

"Is it far?"

"Far enough," she responded coolly, still unsure of what to make of him. Turning away, she began to secure her bags, hoping he would get the message that she didn't want – or need – company.

"I can't allow you to travel a far distance alone," he protested, furrowing his brows slightly. What was the girl thinking? Unarmed, unable to protect herself, traveling alone as a woman... It was a sure recipe for disaster. In good conscience, he couldn't let her ride off alone.

"Why," she objected, annoyance in her face. "I was doing just fine before you came along." Though she knew it to be a false statement, she wouldn't be made to feel helpless.

"Was that before or after those men walked into your camp and nearly killed you," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, crossing his arms at her pigheadedness.

"I had that under control!" Stepping away from her horse and towards him, she pointed an accusing finger in his direction.

"Were you planning to send them to their deaths with pure will?" Slightly annoyed, he shook his head at her belligerence.

Finally realizing she had lost, Rachel sighed, eyes narrowing as she turned away, frustrated. After the events of the morning, she had no more desire to argue. She wanted to go home, but she couldn't face her father now. She questioned if he would even accept her back into his home, even if she begged for forgiveness and promised to marry anyone he threw her to. Dropping her head, she sighed again, fighting the anger, stubbornness and defeat that were rolling through her body like waves of hot wind on a high summer's day.

"It is far," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "I am headed for Virginia. My aunt lives near Baltimore, and my cousins will escort me the remainder of the way." At least, she hoped they would... Her aunt was kind, but hadn't seen Rachel since she was a girl, and she was unsure if she would aid her or send her home.

Baltimore was quite far, and Connor almost regretted offering to travel with her, but he couldn't leave someone defenseless on such a journey. Taking a deep breath, he nodded.

"We should get going," he said before explaining that they would have to fetch his horse first. The stallion had been left not far from here when he had taken to the trees after hearing the first gunshot.

Just as Rachel put her foot in the stirrup to swing her leg over the saddle, the man looked her in the eye, extending a hand.

"My name is Connor."

Hesitantly, she looked from his face to his hand before taking his it and reciprocating the handshake. Her hand seemed miniscule in his, despite the fact that she always felt she had large hands. Though she tried, she couldn't keep his gaze, only able to look at their hands.

"Rachel."


	6. Chapter 5

_A/N: I just want to thank every single one of my viewers, followers, reviewers, etc. There are almost 700 hits on this story, from 27 different countries, which is WAY more than I ever imagined and is so totally awesome! Thank y'all so much! _

_About this chapter, first of all sorry that it's kind of melancholy towards the end. I didn't mean for it to be that way, but I figured just getting that out of the way now would be better. Let me know if the story is ever feeling a bit slow. Sometimes I think it is when it's not and vis versa, so feedback is greatly appreciated! _

_Happy Easter, everyone! _

* * *

"The best way out is always through." Robert Frost

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

The first few days were uncomfortable, as they spent each minute of the day traveling with a complete stranger. They spoke little to each other, only conversing about their next meal or the route they would take. Connor kept mostly to himself, and even if Rachel could summon the courage to attempt a conversation with him, she wasn't convinced he would give her much in return.

It wasn't that he intimidated her, but his serious, quiet manner wasn't something she knew how to deal with. Her brothers were all loud and constantly teased her or made jokes, but Connor wasn't anything like them and she felt like a bumbling idiot if she tried to talk to him. Instead, she settled for observing him. Rachel was a people watcher, a master of the art of observing others. Interpreting exactly what they were thinking wasn't a skill she yet could claim, but she liked to think that she wasn't too bad at it.

The thing that struck her most about him was that his physique seemed so different from the way he spoke and held himself. He was huge, obviously well muscled and strong. Weapons seemed to hang off of him everywhere – a bow strapped across him, a tomahawk at his side, a gun tucked safely at his back, not to mention the hidden blades he had saved her with. To anyone else, he would have been intimidating and dangerous, yet Rachel somehow knew he wouldn't misuse his strengths. She could tell by the gentle, concentrated look in his eyes as he cleaned her neck wound, or by the way he closed his eyes and muttered foreign words before skinning an animal he had killed for their meal. Certainly he was dangerous, but only when necessary.

The eve of the first day, she realized there was something familiar about this man's face. It was only later, when he had been roasting rabbit over a fire, that it dawned on her.

Standing frantically, she looked down at his face, riddled with surprise. "You're the boy from the hanging!" The look of confusion on Connor's features made Rachel second guess her discovery, but she was sure. "It was years ago, I was only a girl then. Seven years ago, perhaps."

Connor sighed, realizing what she was talking about.

"Yes," he affirmed. "I was falsely accused, but I was lucky and had friends behind me."

"I was there," she said in a suddenly small voice, remembering the day vividly. "I remember your face. I don't suppose you remember me, though."

He shook his head, trying to recall if he had seen her. He couldn't remember her at all, but then again he didn't remember much about the faces of anyone in the crowd.

"Why did they accuse you of such a thing," she inquired, sitting down again.

Connor looked at her hesitantly, unsure of how much to share. "It's complicated," he found himself saying. "But that was long ago," he mumbled, straying from the conversation as he put some of the freshly cooked rabbit on a small cloth. He handed it to Rachel, who prodded it with her fingers skeptically. With a drawn face, she slipped a small piece inside her mouth, chewing slowly.

Connor chuckled inwardly at the obvious grimace on her face. "Sorry," he apologized, the slightest grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "I am not a chef."

"It's just bland, is all," she said as she looked around for anything to give it flavor. She knew she wouldn't, but it was instinct. "I'm also not accustomed to rabbit," she muttered as she held another piece in front of her face, sizing it up before regretfully plopping it into her mouth.

The two ate in relative silence before Rachel found herself full, unable to eat any more of the vapid meat. Sighing, she rested her chin on her hands as she stared into the fire, the glowing embers and floating sparks wafting through the air her only source of entertainment.

His voice rolled slowly to her, its smooth quality pleasant to hear. "What is the real reason you are here?"

Boy, was he direct. There were no honeyed words to break the tension with him, only direct questions and blunt responses.

"I told you, I am heading for my brother's house."

"Why?"

Misplaced annoyance raised within her, but she suppressed it, unsure why she felt that way in the first place. "I just wish to be with him, is all. I can find work there caring for his children."

Connor was silent for a moment, observing her face before voicing his doubt. "I do not see why there would be a reason for you to travel alone, disguised as a man if you simply wished to visit your brother."

Eyes narrowing, she stood, finished with the conversation. She didn't need to tell this man anything. What did he know of a woman's struggles, anyway? He would think her foolish and impulsive, just like everyone else. He would assume she was weak and dramatic for leaving, chastising her for not performing her womanly duties and staying in her place. She walked to her horse, busying herself in tending to her so as not to have to look at the man opposite the fire.

Connor could tell she was bothered by his insistent questions, but decided to keep pressing her, genuinely intrigued by her situation. "Did you run away?"

"I don't see why it matters to you," she shot back, words cutting through the air. Connor raised his eyebrows, surprised at her hostile reaction.

"No need for hostility," he said calmly, moving about the camp to retrieve and set up his bed roll. "I was simply trying to make friendly conversation." In response, Rachel softened.

"Well what were you doing jumping from the trees in an isolated part of the forest?"

"I will answer if you do," he challenged as he lay down, Rachel following suit not long after. When she had finally found a suitable place to lay, she sighed in exhaustion and slight frustration. This trip was not going how she had planned. Not at all.

Speaking in a small voice, Rachel confirmed his question. "Yes, I ran away." Shifting, she turned on her stomach in order to look at him as she spoke to him. Eyes staring towards the sky brimming with stars, he considered this.

"Why?"

"My life was not my own," she explained wistfully. "Every decision, every choice for me and my siblings was made by my father. I suppose that is how it is supposed to be, but I could not bear being so completely helpless in the direction of my own life. My brothers were able to escape his meddling hands, but my sisters and I were not so lucky. When he promised me to a man I have hardly spoken to, I decided I had enough. So I left."

She expected him to call her a fool or insist on taking her back to her family, but instead he just nodded, moving an arm behind his head as if her answer had been acceptable. "You aren't going to send me back?"

"Why would I," he asked, turning on his stomach to face her at the odd question.

"No reason."

This girl was intriguing to Connor. She was so unlike most women he had ever met – both stubborn and easily defeated, both impulsive and hesitant. He could tell that she held many dimensions within her, as well as many thoughts that she dared not utter. As much as he tried, he could not understand how the same woman who had spit defiantly in the face of potential death had also cowered under his look, eyes darting away like a doe did at the sound of a branch cracking under the hunter's foot.

"You have many siblings?" Trying to keep the conversation going was difficult for Connor, but he didn't want to seem uninterested in what she had told him.

Nodding, she stifled a laugh. "I am the seventh of nine," she confirmed. "Sometimes it's more like living in a barn than a home," she laughed. Connor didn't even crack a smile at her attempt at humor and she looked away, heat unseen in her cheeks. He was so serious... "Tell me of your family."

Swallowing hard, he turned onto his back again, unable to meet her eyes. "Any family I had was gone long ago." Faces flashed before his closed eyes; the people he had lost, the people he had been unable to save, even those who's lives he had taken with his own hand. His mother, buried under burning debris. Achilles, still in a bed, taken by sickness and old age. Kanen'tó:kon... If he had ever regretted killing someone, it was him. Often he had wished he hadn't done it, or wished that things could have been different. And his father... Surely, despite his hopes for reconciliation, he knew he would have to kill his father eventually, but with him went the last of his kin, and in a way it still deepened his sadness. It deepened the seed isolation that had been sown when Achilles had died. Now, he truly had no one, save the friendship of those who lived on the homestead. Even that wasn't enough for him, though. Not anymore. He longed for something else, though he wasn't sure what.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said thoughtfully, drawing Connor out of his muse. "I lost my mother when I was young. I don't even remember her face." Her voice was filled with a sorrow that Connor knew well. It was the quiet, persistent kind that never let you be, using every chance to give you that bottomless ache in the core of your being.

"I'm sorry." He watched at she turned away, resting her head on her arms folded in front of her. "You should not feel bad that you do not remember her face," he consoled after a few moments of silence.

Surprised that his comment coincided with her thoughts, she turned back, only to find his eyes on her. It was as if she was an open book to him. Multiple times he had seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, and she wasn't sure that she liked it.

"You should sleep," he suggested as he got up.

"No," she protested. "I will take the first watch. I am still in your debt for helping me earlier."

"Are you admitting you needed help?" He challenged Rachel in good nature, almost crossing the line into teasing, which surprised her. She had doubted if he even had the capacity to laugh, but she was now beginning to suspect he was not as serious as he led on.

"Never," she smiled back at him, embracing her stubbornness. Finding a good tree to lean against, Rachel glanced up at the sky, grateful for the beautifully clear night. Watching the stars was something she always enjoyed, and it would help quell her boredom as she waited for her turn to sleep.

"Wake me as soon as you begin to tire." Rolling onto his back, he closed his eyes and clasped his hands on his stomach before falling asleep quickly. It didn't take him long to begin tossing and turning, shifting position every few minutes as if he was always on guard. She wondered if he always slept so restlessly, empathy slowly creeping its way into her heart.

Soon, she felt her eyelids begin to droop, causing her to jolt back into consciousness every time her head fell. She would open her eyes wide and shake out the sleep, but soon she would find herself drifting away again. She kept meaning to wake Connor, but she was just so exhausted...

The low growl is what finally alerted her, but by then it was too late – the wolf was crouching only feet in front of her, teeth barred in a silent warning. Calls for help were stuck in her throat, and though her mind screamed out, her tongue was still. The wolf lunged at her as she braced, but suddenly it dropped to the ground mid-jump, skidding to a halt at her feet. An arrow protruded from its heart – a perfect shot at the perfect. Wide-eyed, she stared at the dead animal, suddenly aware of the fact that she had faced death three times in less than a day.

"You were supposed to be watching," Connor scolded harshly, setting his bow back on the ground as he retrieved the arrow. Irritated at her failure to actually watch for danger, he scowled as he dug the arrow out of the wolf. When he glanced at her, his anger subsided. Wide-eyed, she sat still, breathing quickly as she stared at the carcass. Sighing inwardly, he forced himself to take a gentler tone and remember that this woman had been raised as a lady and was not used to life on the run. She was doing remarkably well for all she had endured that day.

"Why don't I take the watch," he offered. Nodding, Rachel lay down, trying to suppress the desire to go home. All that was left for her there was a half-life, she reminded herself. All that awaited for here there was existence. She would breath, yes, would survive. Live, though, she would not. No love lay in waiting her there, no companionship or sustenance for the mind and spirit. She would smile every day, but her heart would be empty and cold. When all her siblings were married and gone and she lay in bed with a stranger who didn't respect her mind, heart or body, she would not be truly living. She would be an empty shell of a woman, simply going through motions, with no other way out.

She refused to live that life. Before her lay everything – family, a chance to decide for herself what her path would be. Perhaps she would find a suitable man in Virginia, but even if she never married, she would choose her own path, carve her own future. Freedom awaited her, and though it was still hundreds of miles away, she could almost taste the rich, satisfying sweetness of it.


	7. Chapter 6

_A/N: I really got stuck on this chapter, for some reason! I'll probably end up rewriting it, but I figured I'd just give it to you guys anyway. We're going to start getting into the interesting part (at least in my opinion... haha) so stay tuned!_

_Also, we now have 1000 views! Wow! Thanks, everyone! Please feel free to review! It definitely helps to know what y'all like and what you don't!_

* * *

"Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean" - Maya Angelou

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

He let her sleep as long as he could, but he wanted to get an early start and it was already well past dawn. Crouching by her, he rested his hand on her shoulder, shaking gently.

"Rachel," he breathed, met only by a series of grunts as she shooed his hand away. "Rachel, we must go or we will be behind."

After letting out a lamenting groan, she sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Stretching the effects of the hard ground out of her body, she raised her hands above her, tensing as she felt her spine sliding back into place and muscles waking up. Despite being woken in the middle of sleep, she felt surprisingly refreshed, not at all groggy like she usually was when her dreams were interrupted. She glanced at Connor to be sure he wasn't watching, and began to remove her coat. Modesty was something ingrained in her since birth, and though she knew this man would not act dishonorably, he was still a man, and any sort of disrobing in front of him made her uncomfortable, even if she was simply taking off outer layers. Shaking out her dirt and leaf ridden coat, she discarded it on a nearby rock before doing the same with her waistcoat, leaving her only in a thin shirt.

Connor turned just as she let her hair out of its binds, shaking it out and letting the waves cascade down her back. The sleeves of her too large shirt fell to reveal the pale skin of her forearms as she tied her hair with a leather thong. He had thought her hair brown before, but the sunlight caught the auburn undertones. Urging to touch it, he realized he was openly staring and went back to his preparations. It was as if he had forgotten she was a woman. With her figure disguised beneath those large clothes and fair face hidden under a hat, it wasn't hard to do, but the realization of it still affected him in a way he wasn't sure he understood.

"Are you ready?" She asked, looking suspicious, as if she had caught him sneaking sweets from the kitchen. Wondering if she had seen his wandering eyes, he turned away, surprised that he was suddenly the one who couldn't meet her eyes instead of the other way around.

When they began to approach Boston, Connor cut off Rachel's horse, bringing his around the other way so he could face her.

"Listen to me, Rachel." Voice slightly ominous, he stared her straight in the eyes, his intense gaze too much for her. Her eyes darted everywhere, looking at her hands or the ground or the trees beyond him – anything but his eyes. "We need supplies and a few other items, so we will have to do some shopping. I need to know how well people may know you here."

"Fairly well," she hesitated. She hadn't considered the fact that some people in the city may recognize her despite the disguise.

"In that case, let me do all the talking. Remember that the city is dangerous," he warned, unsure if he should tell her that being with him made it twice as dangerous as if she was with anyone else. Despite their waning control, Templars still roamed the city, and to them, he was public enemy number one. "If I tell you to run or to leave me, you must promise that you will." When she didn't acknowledge his request, he spoke again, this time more forcefully. "Rachel."

Finally, she met his eyes. "You must promise."

Nodding slowly, she agreed. "I promise." Something within him told him that the headstrong girl wouldn't necessarily follow through, but he accepted her words nonetheless.

As they entered the city, Rachel was noticeably on edge. Every time he glanced at her, he could see her knuckles turning white as she gripped the reins of her horse, or he noticed the way she settled her hat lower on her head each time someone passed by closely. Silently, he began to wonder what her home life had really been like if she was this afraid of getting recognized.

The first store was easy, as Rachel had never been inside and definitely did not know the shopkeeper. Even so, paranoia was still pulsing through her. Every glance towards her seemed to be one with the intention of revealing her identity – every person that passed too close to her was going to haul her off to her father. She kept her head down, her only focus following the path of Connor's white coat. It was only when they were out in the open where food was being sold at a small market that she noticed she was not the only one who was overly suspicious and aware of the actions of people around them. Often she caught him taking in his surroundings or watching a figure pass his line of sight before moving on.

As she got comfortable in the fact that no one was going to discover her, her eyes began to wander from stall to stall, eyes drawn to pretty things she would have wanted had she been with her siblings. While Connor was securing a few days worth of bread, she found herself walking a few stalls down, picking up a hair ribbon that was on display. Rubbing the soft silk between her fingers, she found herself wishing she could have it as proof that she still was a woman.

"Have a nice lass to give that to, eh?" The shopkeeper smiled, causing Rachel to stumble out of her thoughts. Reflexively, she took a few steps back, ribbon still in hand, which apparently wasn't something the shopkeeper was keen on.

"Thief!" Summoning the guards nearby, the shopkeeper managed to draw the attention of everyone on the block. As soldiers began crossing the market, Rachel felt panic seeping through her pores, yet was unable to move. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she was acting more afraid of being sent back home than she had acted in the face of rape and death.

"Please," a soothing voice suddenly rang out as a large figure stepped in front of her. "My friend was not raised with common manners. I apologize," the man said as he passed the shopkeeper some money, which seemed to quiet him down and give the guards signal to retreat. Irritated that she had nearly given them away, he grabbed Rachel's arm, leading her away.

"We are not here to do the pleasure shopping," he whispered harshly in her ear. She would have responded with some smart comment or ripped her arm out of his grasp, but suddenly her eyes were locked on a small poster hanging on a nearby wall. Forcing Connor to release her, she made her way through the crowd, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she recognized the face on the wanted poster. Staring back at her, albeit a poor representation, was her own likeness.

* * *

Anger was not a word to describe the fire burning through him. Fury. Rage. Wrath. Those were more appropriate words for this. Dismounting quickly, Samuel strode into the house, pushing aside the soothing of his own betrothed as he stomped into his father's study. At his son's obvious displeasure, Mr. Beeson looked up from his work, closing the accounting books he had been working on.

"What is it, Samuel? What has upset you," he inquired, as if he did not know the answer. Anger rising further, Samuel attempted to steady his voice before responding.

"As you know, I have been searching for Rachel."

"Of course." Closing the book nonchalantly, he stood, face void of any concern. "Is there any news? I have been worried," William said evenly, looking his son in the eye.

"Have you?" In one motion, Samuel fished a piece of parchment from his coat pocket, unfolding it violently before slamming it on the table in front of his father. "Maybe you would care to explain this." His voice was burning as hot as his temper, and William questioned if he had ever seen his son carry such intense anger. Collectedly, he glanced at the poster depicting his daughter, the words "wanted alive" printed neatly at the top, followed by a hefty award at the bottom.

"My son," he appeased, "Did you expect me to let her go? Not only did she leave her responsibilities, but she stole my property. She must be found. We are lucky Thomas has even agreed to wed her, even after all of this."

Disgust riddled Samuel's expression. Caught in his own happiness, he had become blind to how truly greedy his father had become. "Are you telling me that all you care for is to get your things back and secure the land and status that will come with her marriage? My lord, father! You wonder why she ran off! You cared nothing for her!" Samuel was yelling so fiercely that he caused his father to step back. William was genuinely shocked. Of all his children, Samuel was the most level headed. This kind of outburst was completely unexpected. "You sold her happiness for your gain!"

His voice was low and threatening as he made the accusation, inciting anger from his father as well. How dare his son speak to him in such a manner!

"How dare you insinuate that I did such a thing," he shot back, equally infuriated. "I cared for her security, for her protection! Thomas will provide for her," he went on, despite the scowls and opposition from the evenly enraged man in front of him. "That is what sustains life, not this happiness and love you foolish children seem to go on about!"

"No," Samuel objected, tearing the parchment in half before discarding it onto the floor. "You intended to sell her heart and her body for your own profit! You treated her with will ill and contempt! Even now, you care more about returning your property than your own flesh and blood! It is no wonder you sent James off to his death in order to prove a point."

At this, William had had enough. He would not stand for his elder son to be brought up in such a way. Crossing the room fluidly, he punched his son hard across his face, leaving him to stumble backwards in a shocked stupor.

Caught by his brother, Samuel let out a cry of anger.

"What is going on," John asked, obviously unsure of what had happened.

"Our father has admitted it," Samuel pointed at his father, who was showing the beginnings of defeat in the way he had slumped his shoulders and backed away again. "He has put a price on our sister's head for her return, but that is not the first time he has equated her with simple monetary value! First he disowns one son, abandons another to certain death, and now he sells his daughter like a common prostitute!"

"Get out!" Voice ripping through the air, William pushed his sons out the door of his study. "All of you!" One final time, Samuel crossed the hall, getting increasingly close to his father's face. Grabbing his cravat, he drew his father close.

"I can assure you, until you come to your senses, you will neither see nor hear from me again," he spat the words in a low voice, wrath evident in his dark tone. "I can assure you, I will find Rachel, but when I do, I will not return her to this life. Nor will I return to this life." After pushing the man away, Samuel stomped out of the house, leaving his father completely alone.

"Don't you dare join _them_," he called, to ears that did not hear him. William knew he would, though. He would join the two of his other sons that had betrayed their family – betrayed their cause. Taking a calming breath, he went back to his desk, straightening his clothes along the way. Opening his accounting books, he began work again.

* * *

As Rachel snatched the parchment off the wall, scowling as she crumpled it into a ball, Connor noticed unnatural movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could even tend to Rachel's situation, he turned and saw a group of men walking towards them, determination in their eyes and familiar insignias about their necks. Templars.

Not now, he groaned as he grabbed Rachel's arm again.

"Run to the horses," he urged as he turned to face the men. "Wait for me beyond the city walls." Not watching to see if she had followed his order, he turned, making for the closest man. His tomahawk made contact with the first one easily, slicing through the thin skin of a neck before coming down on the shoulder of the next one. By this time, the citizens of Boston were screaming and running every which way, women screaming and men calling for soldiers. As Connor noticed the groups of descending troops bent on apprehending him, he fled. He knew a smart fight from a foolish one, and this was not the time to be taking chances.

Just as he had predicted earlier, Rachel had not heeded his words, and was simply waiting a few streets down, frantic eyes searching for him. In one fluid motion, he swung himself onto his horse with ease, nudging it forward. Riding hard, the two dodged Templars and soldiers alike, making their way out of the city and into safety without any harm. Tucked unseen in the woods, they dismounted to let the horses rest. Unspoken tension high in the air, the two attempted to avoid each other in hopes of evading an argument, but in the end, Connor could not hold his tongue.

"You promised you would run if I told you to," he began, voice a little sharper than he had intended. "The city is especially dangerous, and you could have been killed! I would rather not explain why I am delivering a corpse to your brother instead of his sister." Silently, he wondered why he had even gone with this girl. All she had done was cause him problems, make him known to the Templars, and distract him from his goals of finishing them off so all could live in peace.

Tired of his constant talk of how everything was just so dangerous, she raised her voice. "I am fine, am I not?" Eyes narrowing, she could almost feel the doors opening to her caged emotions. "Besides, what does it matter to you if anything happens to me? The only reason you are here is due to some misplaced need to be a hero. I would have been fine on my own!" Even though she knew it wasn't true, her anger led her on. "I do not need your weapons and skill to survive. I could leave right now so that you can get back to whatever it is that is so important to you."

Seething, she stalked off, suddenly wanting to get as far away from Connor as possible. For a moment she felt bad for taking out her anger on him. Perhaps her anger was misplaced. Connor had done nothing but help her, and despite insisting she didn't need him, she knew she would be long dead if he had not stumbled upon her in the woods. No, she was not angry with him, he was just taking the brunt of her emotions that had long been kept caged. Anger. Disappointment. Grief. Guilt. Loneliness. So long they had eaten at her from the inside out as she had put on a careful facade.

It was as if all of these emotions had suddenly been dropped over her shoulders, forcing her to feel the full force that she had never before had to bear. Yet she was too proud to admit them and to frustrated to deal with them. Still, though, she held out hope that when she arrived in Virginia, she would find healing.

"Rachel," an irritated voice called out to her. "I know you are upset, but-"

"No!" Swirling to face him, her face was red with frustration. "You know nothing about me! You know nothing of what it is like to live my life," gritting her teeth, she realized how close in proximity she was to him. She could feel the heat his body gave off, could almost sense his lungs draw oxygen from the air.

"Do you think you are the only one who had a tough life?" Tired of her whiny, selfish comments, Connor let his temper roam. "You grew up with people who loved you, Rachel. You had a roof over your head and were protected from the evils of the world. Even now, you have those who care for you, even if you have decided to throw that away."

Rachel scowled in response, tossing her head in exasperation, lips pursed to keep her from saying something she would regret.

"I fought for everything I have. My childhood was taken from me when I found my mother burning and I could do nothing for her!" At this, Rachel felt her heart soften. Stopping her hand from moving to touch him, she stepped back, almost shrinking beneath the realization that he was perhaps right. Despite her reaction, though, Connor kept on. "Do not complain because your father is trying to make sure you are provided for. Do not whine because your siblings chose their path and you had less choice. You act like you have nothing, but you are simply a foolish girl who has thrown away everything she had."

Stepping back again, Rachel looked as if he had slapped her. For a moment, she was vulnerable, pride having been stripped from her. She regained control, then, eyes narrowing as her brows furrowed in anger.

"Go to hell," she said icily. Tears threatening and pride wounded, she had to get away. She had to go anywhere but here, had to be with anyone but Connor. As she rode off, leaving his still figure in the dust, she came to the hard realization that she truly had nowhere to go.


	8. Chapter 7

_A/N: Hey y'all! Sorry this chapter took so much longer than my normal updating. It's been a tough week for me personally, so when I was able to write it was very stop-and-go, which never really makes for good writing for me. I've also found that it's kind of hard to write Connor. Trying to show growth and changes in him while still staying true to his character is proving to be difficult! This chapter is also the longest, by far, that I have written as of yet, and also probably the one I'm least confident about, so bear with me... I hope you enjoy it all the same! _

_Review responses:_

_Britt: I can't tell you how much this made my week! I'm so glad that you're liking Rachel! It really means a lot and definitely encourages me to keep it up._

_Lilith Marx: Thank you! I went back and found a few of them, hopefully I got the majority! I'm glad you liked the argument, I always enjoy writing them, for some reason... Haha._

_Please review! :)_

* * *

"Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant." Socrates

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN

Connor couldn't stand that insufferable girl.

She was an encumbrance to him; somehow, she always managed to get herself into some kind of trouble, ending up in him being discovered by those he had worked so hard to evade. With his element of surprise now gone, he would have to re-think his entire strategy on how to get to the remaining cells of Templars still plaguing the area. Cursing her, he picked up a nearby rock and hurled it at a tree, cracking a thin branch. She had been nothing but a burden to him since he first saved her from those men! For a moment, he regretted ever helping her, but instantly felt bad for thinking it. No matter how headstrong she was, she didn't deserve harm to come to her.

Oh, but her stubbornness... Her pride! How irritated and ornery it made him to deal with her insistence that she could do all things herself, that she needed no aid! Even now, she would probably be wandering through the forest, unprotected and lost. With her track record, it wouldn't be long before she stumbled upon some sort of dangerous situation.

He would have to go after her. Letting out a remorseful groan, he got up, mounting his horse to set off in the direction she had fled. It had been nearly half an hour, and he would be lucky to find her before nightfall. As he rode, carefully watching for signs of which way she had gone, he felt his anger begin to subside and worry begin to set in. Almost as soon as his temper had taken him even further into his argument with Rachel, an anxious fretting began to wear on his heart. Left to wonder why he felt such distress at her sudden absence, he rode on, trying not to admit to himself that perhaps deep down he valued her enough to put in such an effort to be sure she was well.

* * *

Dusk was approaching. Emotionally and physically exhausted, Rachel nearly fell off her horse as she came to a large river, no bridge in sight. She would have to stay here for the night and try to find a solution in the morning. As she dismounted, she tripped, falling onto her shoulder. It had landed just in the right position to twist it unnaturally, and the pulsing pain only added to her misery. Tears threatened as it throbbed with pain.

Feeling pathetically foolish, she sat down, dropping her head into her hands. Would she never learn? Perhaps it was just that she wanted so much to be independent, to be self-reliant and strong that she had overlooked the reality of her situation. A young woman of twenty-one, raised in a wealthy home as a lady and not a barbarian, she had hardly even touched a knife, save the small ones in the kitchen where she would help Harriet with the cooking. Not to mention the fact that she had never been alone, especially not with a man who was not her brother or father. Never had she ventured outside of her family's land without reason and much company, and surely she had never gone farther than Boston. Yet here she was sitting on the forest floor, alone, defenseless, miserable...

Now, when she finally decided she would let herself cry, no tears made an appearance, which only made her even more frustrated. How pathetic she must have seemed to Connor... A whining, stubborn maiden despite having a blessed life. Well, at least to an outsider...

_Connor_. She felt irritated just at the thought of his name. The all-knowing and invincible Connor... He dared to call her foolish and imply that she was too prideful, yet he had the ability to be quite arrogant himself. Still though, as much as it pained her to admit it, he had been right. Sure, she had lost her mother and brother, received no love from her father, but she did have her siblings. She had Harriet and Sarah, and a warm home with food on the table. She had never wanted for any material item, had never lain in bed hungry for food.

Yet still, she could not push away the pangs of her suffering. Perhaps to another it would seem miniscule, but she would give a thousand hungry nights to take back that day at the creek, when she had lost her mother. She would have traded all of her silk dresses and well made shoes to have not witnessed her brother's death. Most striking to her, though, was the fact that despite her dreams of a family of her own someday, she would have traded even that for her father to look at her with love once again.

None of it mattered now, though. God would not make a bargain with her to trade the life he had dealt her, and it was a waste of time to wish for it. Sighing, she lay back against the soft grass, watching the forest grow dark as she slipped into her dreams. Dreams of a mother's soothing voice, a brother's laughing grin. Cool swims in an ever-moving river, the sun casting dancing shadows against her cheek. No danger, no regret, only trust, forgiveness, and maybe, just maybe – the smallest hope for love.

* * *

He found her just as the last of the spring light was fading beyond the trees. Rachel lay asleep in a disarray of clothing and hair, coat sprawled across half of her and ponytail nearly undone. One slim arm lay draped across her waist, the other shielding her eyes from the remaining sunlight. Any anger that Connor had left melted away as sat across from her, observing the ease with which she slept. He would give anything for a peaceful night's sleep.

Connor was more relieved at finding her than he wanted to admit. Worry had been heavy in his chest as he searched, beginning to think the worst as dusk approached. It did not matter now, though. She was unharmed, and now, with him, she was safe. Somewhat surprisingly, it hadn't been a sense of responsibility that had led Connor to go after her. If it wasn't that, what _had_ he gone after? It was a while before he realized it was her company. Her presence. Somehow, it calmed him to be around her.

She woke slowly the next morning, taking in the noises and views of the morning forest before sitting up. The mornings were beginning to become warmer, and she no longer needed her coat for warmth. Laying it aside, she sat up slowly, sleepy eyes taking in her surroundings. The birds sang happily, flitting from tree to tree content with their activities. In the distance, she spotted a doe and her small fawn, blissfully unaware of her quiet presence. Stomach grumbling, she moved her eyes to the two horses grazing nearby, wondering if she had any bread left. Then, she caught herself. _Two_ horses?

Sure enough, she finally noticed Connor, sitting asleep across from her. Head leaning back against a tree, his mouth gaped open, causing Rachel to laugh quietly, amused. Remembering their fight, her smile faded, although her heart did not harden. Unfortunately, she would have to apologize. Rachel didn't like admitting she was wrong, especially to someone who would probably enjoy hearing it, but she knew when someone deserved an apology.

Both letting him get whatever rest he could and trying to put off having to apologize, she let Connor sleep. Waiting proved difficult as boredom set in, though, and she soon began to wish for him to wake so she would at least have something to do, even if it was finding a way to subtly annoy Connor. As she dug through her bags, hoping to find bread that was not completely molded, she heard a rustling behind her.

Rachel had been the first thing Connor had seen when he finally opened his eyes. Assuming she was about to run off again, he jumped up.

"Rachel, wait!"

"For what?" Turning, she looked up at him, for some reason finally able to look him in the eye. Maybe it was his consistent eye contact that made her shy away from him. When he spoke, he looked her right in the eye, and staring into his dark, intense eyes wasn't something she had been all together comfortable with.

"You are not leaving?"

"No," she said quietly, glancing at the ground. "Why would I?"

"I just figured after last night..." He trailed off, unsure if mentioning it would upset her or cause them to argue again.

"Perhaps we should talk." Looking up at him again, she motioned for them to sit. They sat in silence for a few moments before Rachel took a few deep breaths, swallowed her pride, and said it.

"I am sorry, Connor. I should not have said what I did. You were right, I did put myself in a situation of my own creation. I chose to leave and throw away what I had, and I can't complain about that. I suppose -"

"Rachel," he attempted to stop her.

"I am very sorry, I-" Rachel stopped as soon as she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder.

"Rachel." Dropping his hand again, she looked at him, thankful that he recognized how hard apologizing had been for her. "You were not the only one at fault. I should not have denied you your feelings."

Not one for sentimental apologies, Rachel nodded, saying nothing more. When she finally turned back to him, she found his eyes on her, and though in any other circumstance she would have looked away, she held his gaze. Heat flooded her face as she looked at him. His eyes had been intense at first glance, but now she realized that there was so much more behind it.

Suddenly too aware of how close they were sitting, how his knee was a finger's width from hers, she got up, making herself busy with things that were already done.

"Shall we set off, soon?"

"I thought we could take a day of rest," he said as he got up as well. "There is a stream nearby that leads into a small pond. Fresh water would do us both good, and perhaps, if you wish, you can wash your hair."

"Wash my hair?" Raising an eyebrow, she stifled a laugh.

This time, it was Connor who's face and neck bore the subtle, creeping redness. "Isn't that what women like to do?"

"Of course! We sit around fussing over our hair each day instead of doing any work. Washing my hair is actually my favorite past time."

"Why do I get the feeling that you are mocking me," he said dryly, only making Rachel giggle again. Despite Rachel's lighthearted laughs, Connor barely even cracked a smile, reminding her again of how serious he was. Did he _ever_ smile? Did he ever laugh or enjoy himself? At this point, Rachel doubted it.

"The pond is not far," he said as he mounted his horse. Indeed, the ride was short, and Rachel had to contain her excitement. As soon as she saw the stream flowing into the small pool of water, she was suddenly aware of her parched mouth, the remnants of blood in her hair and the layer of grime that covered her. She had not bathed in a long time, and she found herself longing for one.

Settling for washing her face, she bent over the water, scrubbing the layer of dirt and blood off of her face and neck. When she caught her reflection, she gasped.

"Why did you not tell me I looked like this," she whimpered, prodding the fading bruises still visible over her eye and cheek, and the cut on her neck that was still swollen and red with a scab. She looked like a mess.

"You look fine," he said, amusement evident in his face. "Much better than the first few days."

Glaring at him, she turned back to her reflection in the water, groaning at the blood still in her hair.

"If you wish to bathe, you can," he said in a matter-of-fact way, as if it was no big deal for her to take a bath in the middle of the forest in the presence of a man she had known only a week. He must have understood the strange look she gave him, because he offered to leave.

"I can hunt, and I will be close enough to keep watch."

"What if someone comes by?" Still hesitant and hoping Connor would convince her it wouldn't be bad for her to do it, she pressed him with objections.

"You do not have to if you do not want to. I just presumed you did. Besides, it is extremely unlikely that there is anyone wandering about the forest. We are far away from the nearest road."

Considering this, she gave in. She waited until Connor was out of sight before beginning to disrobe. Paranoid, she looked around at each small noise she heard, afraid someone would see her. Once concealed by the water, though, she was grateful that Connor had convinced her to do it. The cool water was refreshing over her bare skin, and she was more than thankful to scrub the dried blood still caked in her hair from the day she had met Connor.

After a while, all she could picture was her sister Abigail's face had she known was she was doing right now. Abigail, who had become another mother figure for her younger siblings when their mother had died, was the prim and proper child of the family. Always she had chastised Rachel for acting unladylike, and Rachel laughed out loud at the image of her sister, horrified that Rachel was bathing exposed in a forest while traveling with a man.

As a child, Rachel had always played more with her brothers than her sisters. More often had she ridden bareback and mud laden across her family's land or had stick sword fights with her brothers while her sisters dressed their dolls and learned how to become masters at embroidery. Even to this day, Rachel was terrible at anything that had to do with a needle. What a horrid housewife she would have made... Harriet had begun to attempt to teach her in light of her betrothal, but all Rachel managed to do was stick herself with the needle or waste thread with her terrible job.

Someday, if she ever married, some poor man would have to learn to repair his own clothing and craft his own children's clothes. At least she would know she was marrying for love and not duty, though. Her thoughts wandering as she enjoyed the cool water, she wondered what her future husband was like, if she ever did marry. Was he a proper man, or was he a man who, like herself, defied the expectations put on him? Did he laugh often, did he ever cry?

Shaking her head, she laughed quietly at the fact that she was acting like a young girl, dreaming of her future husband. Who knew, perhaps she would never marry or bear a man's children. Perhaps she no longer wanted to – not if it meant being controlled by another. No, she preferred a life of freedom, a life where her opinion mattered and she was not told now to feel, how to dress, how to walk and speak to others. A life where she decided where she went and how she wanted to speak to someone. Rachel would be hard pressed to find a man who considered her his equal in mind, and she knew it. Yet she couldn't see herself respecting a man who did not respect her. Especially not now, after tasting life aside from dresses, corsets and being valued only for her ability to cook and bear children instead of for who she was. Poor was the meaning of a woman's life, to her, if all she had in store was to be handed off like an animal for breeding and work.

* * *

Bearing two rabbits, Connor began to make his way back to their camp. Rachel would not be overly pleased at eating rabbit again, but he was anxious to get back and didn't want to lug a carcass of a large animal all the way back. He approached the pond from behind, and was just about to call out to Rachel when he noticed that she was still in the water. Frozen in his steps, he watched as she rose out of the water slightly, her bare shoulders visible. He took in the soft curve of her shoulder and how her long hair, appearing almost black from the water, clung to her bare back. As she began to get out of the tranquil pool, he found himself turning around in respect to her honor.

After giving ample time for her to get dressed, he approached again.

"Rabbit again, unfortunately," he said, not meeting her eyes. "If you want, I can make it now."

It was mid-afternoon now, and Rachel's stomach was berating her with unearthly noises, so she nodded, eyes watching him with suspicion. He wouldn't look her in the eye.

"See any beautiful sights while you were hunting," she asked calmly, working her fingers through her damp hair as he swallowed in discomfort. Trying to keep a knowing smile from her face, she wondered what of her he had seen. Eventually, she figured it wasn't much. Although Connor was a man through and through, she didn't think he would have sat and ogled her as she got out of the water. Though she felt a slight blush in her face, she was surprisingly calm at the thought of him seeing her.

"It is quite a beautiful day," he stammered, obviously not sure what to say. "There are many beautiful sights to see in the forest." As he began to skin the rabbits, trying to make himself too busy for conversation, Rachel suppressed a giggle. He seemed more embarrassed than she!

She watched him work in silence. It wasn't the stale, uncomfortable silence, but the easy silence of companions, where no words needed to be said. Still, though, Rachel enjoyed conversation, and it was beginning to come easier to her.

"Tell me about where you grew up," she said wistfully, hoping she wasn't striking a chord in him that he tried to hold still. He looked up at her with searching eyes, wondering why she was asking. After a moment's hesitation, he responded.

"I grew up in a small village with my people." Memories were flooding behind his eyes, both pleasant and horrific. Thinking about his boyhood home used to make him feel a sense of fondness, but now all he felt was sadness. Now, all that came to mind was the loss of Kanen'tó:kon and his mother, and of the empty shell that now stood there, void of liveliness and of his people.

"So you are... native, then."

"Yes." Furrowing his brow, he looked up at Rachel again, unsure of her tone. "Why do you say it like that?"

"You are so different than what I thought natives were," she admitted, embarrassment rising to her cheeks. "I was always told..." Trailing off, she figured that she shouldn't go on. Despite the fact that she hadn't completed the sentence, Connor's jaw tightened as he looked up at her from beneath his brows, slight anger in his eyes.

"You were told what? That my people were savage and blood thirsty people who needed to be taught how to live?"

Her silence answered for her. Scowling, he dropped the knife, wiping drops of sweat off of his forehead with his wrist, trying to prevent the blood from the animal from getting on his face. As he got up to wash his hands in the pond, Rachel stood as well, afraid she had done something wrong.

"I am sorry Connor, I didn't mean to insult you. I know as well as anyone that there is much behind what is told." For a moment, she was afraid he was leaving, but when he knelt to the pond, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Her hand was gentle on his shoulder, and he felt his anger subside at her touch.

"Connor."

"It's alright," he muttered, still not meeting her eyes. She decided to drop the subject, settling for sitting down as he started the fire and began to prepare the meat for cooking. Stealing glances at her, Connor questioned why he had gotten angry. It wasn't her fault that she had been told lies about his people. Even he had believed what he had been told without question, more often than he wanted to admit.

"What of your childhood," he inquired, trying to show that he wasn't angry with her. She smiled at the question, pleasant memories coming to mind.

"I was quite the rebel." Laughing inwardly, she recalled all the trouble she had gotten into.

"Really." As he raised an eyebrow, Rachel could see both the amusement and doubt in Connor's face.

"Oh, yes. I always preferred to play with my brothers instead of my sisters, much to my father's chagrin. My mother always let it be, though, insisting it was a stage I would grow out of, and so he tried to pay it no mind." Smiling even bigger, Rachel continued. "Once, my brothers convinced me to ride bareback through the mud. When my father found me covered in dirt, he was so furious," she laughed. Connor's lips twitched in a faint smile as he imagined the scene.

"Did you get into trouble?"

"My father paddled me, and my mother made me wash the clothes and scrub the horse for a week." Leaning in, she whispered, "I tell you, the worst part was washing the clothes!"

Of course it was. He shook his head, amused that she had complained the most about the chores, and not about the beating. It was so her. As she laughed, he watched her, making a mental note of how her nose always wrinkled slightly just before she was about to giggle.

"What?" Still smiling, she caught him staring at her.

"Nothing." Both then bore a moment of uncomfortable silence, unsaid words hanging in the air. Trying to break it, Rachel made herself busy by trying to tie her hair into a ponytail. First, her hair was too tangled to cooperate, so she went to fetch her brush from her bags. It was old and worn, the wooden handle broken off at the end. It worked, though, and that's all Rachel could ask for. Once she managed to get some of the tangles out, she tried again, but the leather thong she was using to tie it back wasn't cooperating, especially when she still couldn't move her arm all the way back because of her shoulder injury. Grunting in frustration, she dropped the leather on the ground, giving up.

Her companion was quick to notice that her arm did not reach all the way back. "Did you do something to your arm?" Connor actually sounded genuinely concerned, making Rachel blush. Never one to be this sensitive, she cursed the heat in her cheeks.

"It's my shoulder," she corrected. "I tripped last night, and fell on it."

"Here," he said, turning the meat roasting over the fire once more before walking over to her. Before she knew what he was doing, he had grabbed the brush and began to work the tangles out of her hair. She was so surprised that she couldn't even question why he was doing it. Her body froze as he worked his fingers gently through her hair, sending shivers down her back.

He could tell that she was shocked as soon as he picked up the brush, and in all honesty he was surprised he had done it, but it had happened without him thinking. He had never even seen hair brushed before, but it wasn't too hard to figure out. One thing he couldn't do, though, was figure out how to tie her hair back like she had it before, so he settled with a braid.

As he gathered her hair, his finger brushed against the smooth skin of her neck, and he felt her shudder under his touch.

"How do you know how to brush hair," she wondered out loud, trying to distract herself from his fingers so close to her neck.

Shrugging, he began searching for something to tie her hair with. "It is not too hard to figure out." Suddenly, he remembered the day in the market. "Hold on," he said, dropping the long braid gently on her back. After rummaging through his bags, he finally found what he had been seeking. The blue silk was smooth under his fingers as he tied her hair as best he could. He examined his work, nodding proudly as he draped the braid over Rachel's shoulder for inspection.

Sucking in a breath of air, she stood, running a thumb over the beautiful silk. Realizing it was the same ribbon she had nearly been arrested for, she turned to Connor.

"Connor..." Unable to form words, she just looked at him, gratitude in her eyes. How was it that this man, so obviously physically powerful and surely with friends in high places, had lowered himself to the task of fixing a woman's hair? Not even her brothers, who respected women much more than her father or any other men she know, would have done such a thing. And the ribbon... Had he stuck it in his pocket when she wasn't watching?

"It is nothing," he muttered, going to check on the rabbit again. "I paid for the ribbon to get you out of trouble, so I kept it."

Had that been it? For some reason, Connor doubted it. Perhaps something within him had kept it for the sole purpose of seeing that look on her face, the one that was now gracing it. Stealing a look out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitched into the slightest smile upon watching her excitement at such a small gesture.

As Rachel met his eyes, her heart swelled.


	9. Chapter 8

_A/N: First and foremost, let me thoroughly apologize for how long this chapter took! It's been a crazy few weeks with school, prom, personal things, and the craziness of all that happened this past week. I kept sitting down to try to write this chapter, but I have also been suffering from a terrible, pessimistic bout of writer's block, where I don't even like much of what I write. We all know that never leads to anything productive... Hahaha. And of course, I sat down yesterday, put on some theme music and basically wrote this whole chapter in a night. A small disclaimer, I didn't go back and read this chapter because I figured I should just get it out to y'all ASAP. I also don't really know where I'm going with this story right now, so bear with me. I have the next few chapters planned out, but every time I finish a chapter, I feel like I'm straying off course. Sigh. There goes the pessimistic side of my writer's block again... Hopefully this chapter is much better than it is in my mind. Plus, it doesn't help that my mind has been distracted with two other stories that keep running through my mind... I already put one thing on the back burner for this story, though, so I figured I should finish this before I move to anything else. _

_Also, a huge thank you to all who reviewed, followed and favorited this story since I last updated. Y'alls support is a huge reason that there is even a chapter right now. _

_And a huge apology for this immensely long author's note._

_Now on to review responses! _

_Nenoka & Vica: Hopefully I didn't keep y'all waiting too long... :)_

_madameHunter: Thank you! Hopefully my writer's block will subside and I will be able to write more! :)_

_GiveItToMeSlowly: Thanks for the compliment! I have to tell you, this review made me force myself to attempt to write this chapter... So congrats! Haha. ;)_

**_Please feel free to drop a review! They really are encouraging, and help motivate me to make myself sit down and write, therefore getting you updates faster. ;)_**

* * *

"Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence." Henry David Thoreau

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT

The pair stood with a river at their feet, staring across its broad expanse to the opposite shoreline. Rachel looked around urgently, praying she would spot a bridge. To her dismay, Connor conveyed her fear with his words.

"We will have to cross," he said simply, beginning to lead the horses along the shore.

"There must be a bridge," she said urgently, running after him. "Please, Connor," she begged as she grabbed his arm. As soon as he felt her hands encircle his arm, he stopped, turning to her. When he saw the fear in his eyes, he stopped himself.

"What is it?" His eyes bore genuine concern, yet Rachel still hesitated for fear that he would think her foolish or weak if she told him why it was she didn't want to go into the water. Although her fathers and brothers knew of the reasons for her fear, even they made fun of her when she abstained from swims or fishing trips.

Realizing she was still clutching at his arm, she let her hands drop, suddenly embarrassed. Silent for a few moments, she collected herself as Connor waited for her to speak. He could tell she was hesitating, as if holding back some dark secret, and though he wanted to reassure her, he kept quiet, letting her tell him in her own time.

"I..." Should she tell him the whole story? Should she tell him of what she had done, of the life ended because of her foolishness? Surely he would condemn her, blame her, loose respect for her. It's what everyone else had done. No, she could not tell him. Not everything.

"I am afraid of the water," she admitted, looking down in embarrassment.

Connor was surprised. From the look in her eye, he had expected her to say something else – anything else besides that. It was a silly thing to him, to be afraid of such a harmless and often pleasurable thing such as water, but he didn't chastise her – he had no right to, for he knew he had his own fears hidden away within him.

"Rachel." His voice was gentle as he said her name, making her look up again. She had expected to see disdain or amusement in his eyes at her silly fear, but instead he looked at her with patience and understanding. "Do you trust me?"

The question caught her off guard, and she nearly stepped back. Did she trust him? She hadn't thought about it before, but now that she had... Of course she trusted him. He had not ever given her a single reason for her not to trust him.

"Yes," she said confidently, meeting his eyes with a sudden strength. It was then that she realized she was no longer intimidated by his intense gaze. How silly it was before that she couldn't even look him in the eye! And how much she had missed out on... A dark chestnut brown, they held all the emotions that his face and demeanor lacked. Not only did they seem to bear his secrets, but they seemed to give back to her a level of comfort and steadiness that gave her strength. Realizing she had been staring at him for a moment too long, she glanced away again, cursing the blush that crept up her cheeks. She had never so much as reddened before, yet this man made her flush so easily.

"Then trust me when I tell you nothing will happen to you." His voice was serious and commanding, yet also held an air of gentleness and sincerity that made her believe him. She nodded, and upon seeing her agreement, Connor began searching the trees intently.

"What are you looking for?"

"A symbol," he said through his focus as he ran his hands across trees, searching. She prodded no more, not wanting to distract him, but he discovered what he had been searching for not long after. Crouching down, he stuck his hands inside the large group of bushes at the foot of the tree, face showing a triumphant look as he dragged a huge object out of the leaves. To Rachel's surprise, it was a boat.

"Who stashes a boat in a bunch of bushes," she wondered aloud.

"It's a long story," Connor answered. "Let's just say that some friends of mine leave this here in case anyone has need for it."

"What about the horses?"

"Someone will be along to collect them soon."

"There is no way I'm leaving them alone here! Someone could steal them!"

"I promise you, they will be looked after," Connor said. Rachel sighed, stroking her mare's neck before sighing in defeat, knowing she didn't have much of a choice.

She helped Connor push the boat into the shallows of the river, reminding her that she wished she would never have to exchange these breeches for a skirt. He motioned for her to get in, but though she did believe him, she still couldn't bring herself to swing her leg over the side of the boat. All she could think of was what had happened last time she was in a boat. The burning of water in her lungs, the hands pushing her up, then sliding off of her, sinking unmoving into the depths.

"Rachel," he called out quietly. She had been staring into the water, a mix of sorrow and fear in her eyes. He wondered what had happened to make her so nervous, but decided if she was ready to tell him, she would. "Rachel." Finally, she looked up at him, brown eyes meeting his. "Trust me." He held his hand out, beckoning, and though she hesitated momentarily, she slid her hand into his.

For the first moments, both of them thought only of the feeling of the other's hand in theirs. She marveled at how his hand seemed to dwarf hers, despite the fact that she had always believed herself to have large hands for a woman. They were rough, battle hardened, yet gentle and warm, leading her. His thumb landed on the back of her fingers, and she took a deep breath before letting him help her into the boat. As her hand left his grasp, he secretly mourned the loss of the feeling of her warm, soft hand beneath his.

As he pushed the boat away from the shore and hopped inside, she gripped the sides, silently praying for strength. It was at least a few minutes before she dared open her eyes. Eventually, her death grip on the sides of the boat slackened and she began to relax. The boat was sturdy and the current wasn't strong. Connor had no problem getting them across, moving the oars with ease.

He noticed her watching the movement of the oars as she relaxed, tension flooding out of her body. "Would you like to try," he asked suddenly. She looked at him with the slightest raise of an eyebrow, and even he was surprised at himself for asking. He hadn't even thought before he spoke.

"Sure," she agreed, drawing out the word.

Connor shifted back on the large bench, making room for her to sit in front of him. She sat on the edge, doing her best to touch him as little as possible, as he put the oars in her hands, showing her the correct motion. Though she tried to put her focus on making the boat go forward instead of spiraling around, all she could think of was how close she was to him. His strong hands guiding hers, his breath in her ear.

Shaking off the thoughts she shouldn't be having, she tried to focus on propelling the boat to the shore, but only succeeded in sending them into circles.

"Keep your hands steady," he advised. "Be sure to give the same strength to each side."

Rachel attempted to take his advice, but only ended up turning the boat completely around so that she was staring at the shore from which they had come. Laughing, she got up, turning to sit on the bench opposite him. "I am getting us nowhere," she laughed as she lowered herself down. "I seem to be incompetent with a boat." She looked up at him with a huge grin, the smile gracing her features.

His face broke into a smile at the look of her, a broad one that touched his eyes. He even gave a laugh in response. When the smile crept onto his face, she looked away, finding herself blushing furiously. She wasn't sure why a simple smile and laugh had made her react so, but perhaps it was because the moment just seemed so intimate. Never before had he truly smiled at her, and she hadn't even let herself dream of hearing his laugh, even wondering if he could laugh! How she wished he would laugh more...

A silence fell between them, but it was a peaceful, comfortable silence. The two lost themselves within their own thoughts as Connor guided the boat nearer to the shore.

"You are good with this boat," Rachel commented as they got closer to landing.

"I have a ship back home," Connor shrugged in response. Rachel raised her eyebrows in surprise, trying to imagine what one would look like.

"Do you live near Boston?"

"I live on a homestead a few hours ride northeast of the city."

"I have never set foot on a large ship," she thought aloud. "Nor have I seen the frontier. I have only heard stories." She looked off into the distance thoughtfully, as if caught in another memory.

"Perhaps one day I will show you," he responded. She looked back at him, curiosity in her searching eyes.

Unless angered, Connor always thought his words through before letting them slip past his tongue. Long ago, he had become a master at concealing his thoughts by sharing only long considered words. Yet this woman seemed to draw his thoughts from him before he even had a chance to consider them himself.

Though Rachel had been surprisingly relaxed, she was grateful when they reached the shore. She nearly flew out of the boat, dragging herself to dry land as quickly as possible. Surely, though, she had not even remembered the last time she was in the water while Connor had been with her. He had seemed to give her strength, had seemed to quell her fears with only his presence. She was more than thankful.

As Connor drug the boat onto the shore, Rachel fiddled with the hem of her shirt, words caught in her throat.

"Did you really mean it," she asked in a small voice, forcing the words out only to regret them as soon as they passed her lips.

"What?" He turned for clarification, but just as she opened her mouth to give it, Connor saw movement just beyond the nearest trees.

She noticed the change of his body language instantly. His curious, gentle look turned into an array of anger, tension and blood lust. He grabbed her arm and drug her behind him, pulling his tomahawk from his side as over a dozen men crept from the trees.

He took down the first man almost instantly, swinging his tomahawk into his shoulder. As the others descended on him, Rachel stumbled backwards, tripping and falling onto her back before flattening herself against the boat. This was not the way she had ever expected to act during a fight, but something about the blood lust in Connor's eyes made her shrink back, fear gripping her.

He was a monster. A slice here, a hack there, and soon there were only six. Two men cut him off, one approaching from the front and one from behind. Rachel's breath caught as she realized he had nowhere to turn, but to her astonishment, he made quick work of them, too. He buried his hidden blade into the throat of the man in front of him, snatching his gun as he fell to the ground.

The gunshot rang through the air, jolting Rachel as she stared, wishing she could look away, but unable to. The bullet hit its target in the abdomen, sending him to lie in a pool of his own blood before the man behind him was impaled with the bayonet. Three left.

They all descended at once, and in the blink of an eye, Connor was disarmed, tomahawk thrown just out of his reach as one of the men tackled him, struggling to have his blade reach his throat. Connor fought against him, gritting his teeth as he tried to push his hand away. The other man's hands got leverage then, and he was able to use it against Connor, who's hands began to give way. He stretched his neck, trying to create a longer distance between his skin and the blade, but at this point nothing would help him.

Rachel panicked. She knew it was not going well, and she had to act. Standing, she looked around frantically for anything to use as a weapon, but not only could she find nothing, she realized even the weapon forged of the greatest steel would not help her if she did not know how to use it.

"Hey!" Shouting at the three remaining men, she flailed her arms. "Don't forget about me! I give a good fight!" All three looked up at her, which gave Connor his chance. His blade slid easily into the chest of his enemy, and as he kicked him off, he called for Rachel to run.

The leader of the group was a large man, and though he could easily best Rachel with the strength of his bare hands, he was slow on his feet, and Rachel used it to her advantage, darting around him each time he got close. Frustrated, the man spat insults and threats at her, detailing the things he would do with her once he got to her. Somehow, she wasn't afraid of the threats. Perhaps it was because she had heard them so often in the past week, but no matter the cause, she suspected it was empty threats meant to mess with her head more than anything.

She could only outrun and outwit him for so long though, for soon he was beginning to corner her by the water. Yet before she had a chance to cry out, Connor was already there, pulling him downwards, breaking his body over his knee before depositing him onto the floor. The crack made Rachel shudder, and the man screamed in pain before Connor pinned him to the ground.

"Who sent you," he demanded, fury in his voice. "Tell me!"

The man only laughed maniacally, spitting in Connor's face. It was the last thing he did. Rachel looked away as he snapped his neck.

When she finally opened her eyes, Connor was cleaning his blade, almost seeming to be completely unfazed by what had just happened. She stood there watching him, mouth open with shock. She had known he was dangerous, knew he was deadly to those who opposed him, but this... He was... She couldn't bear to look at him, and Connor knew it.

He couldn't meet her eyes either, not wanting to see the fear and fading trust that he was sure they held. Fear of him. He wasn't sure he could bear to see it.

"Rachel," he said finally, softly parting the silence with a pleading voice. For a moment, he thought she was going to run from him, leave him, make him hear out loud what he knew he was.

She looked at him, turning her head but not her body towards him. Instead of seeing fear in her eyes, though, Connor saw only sorrow. He took a step towards her, beginning to reach out to her subconsciously.

"Rachel," he called again.

She shook her head slowly, a million thoughts swarming through her head. This man was no ordinary man, and though she had suspected as much before, it still was still a shock to witness. Only once before had she seen such skill in battle, and it was not a memory she liked to revisit.

"Who _are_ you," Rachel insisted, finally turning towards him. "_What_ are you?"

Her words were sharp, and stung Connor more than he wanted to admit. He sighed heavily, seeming to slump over the air. He couldn't tell her about the Order. It would only drag her into something she didn't need to be involved in. It would only bring her to harm. It already had, and she didn't even know of it!

No, he could not tell her. But there was something he could tell her. He stopped himself then, surprised at his own willingness to share such an intimate part of him. Trust wasn't something he felt easily anymore, especially not for someone he had scarcely spent two weeks with. Yet here he was, about to devolve part of himself that he had kept so close. Rachel would listen, he was sure of it. No judgment, no assumptions, no favors in return, just the simple gift of a patient, listening heart.

"My name is not Connor," he whispered. Instantly, she turned her body towards him, the sorrow in her face turning to concern. She saw the way his face changed, as if only saying those words pained him. "My mother gave me a different name."

Her footsteps were silent, and he almost didn't notice that she was right in front of him until her hand touched his arm. Fingertips gently brushed over the exposed skin of his wrist before resting on his forearm. So light was her touch, so faint and gentle, yet the comforting warmth it sent through him shook him to his core.

"My mother named me Ratonhnhaké:ton." The name was so odd passing through his lips. Years had passed since he had last uttered his own name, and saying it now was almost freeing. "It means life that is scratched." He paused, closing his eyes. "And it has been." His voice was nearly silent as he spoke those words, soft with mourning, mourning of both people in his life and a potential life lost.

Now that was something Rachel understood. Considering his words, she tried to think of what to say in response, something that would be more than the expected, empty words. She had had enough of them in her own experience, and she didn't want to give them to him now.

"What has been does not have to _be_." Sliding her hand down his arm, she put her hand in his, eliciting his eyes to open and his fingers to close around hers. "Your past has no bearing on your future, as long as you choose your own way. A different way."

It was true, she thought to herself. If only she could learn to take her own advice.

"Thank you."

Though the pair of words were simple and commonplace, Connor hoped they would convey to her that he really was grateful. Not only for what she had said, but also just for being present, for listening and speaking only words that needed to be said. Though it was only a small, seemingly meaningless thing that he had told her, it felt monumental to him, and as he squeezed her hand, he hoped she understood how much trust and respect he had for her. He hoped she realized that under any other circumstance and with any other person, he never could have let even that small piece of himself out of its cage, yet with her, it had been so effortless, so natural.

In the way that she smiled up at him, genuine and complete trust reflecting back at him in her eyes, he knew she understood.


	10. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hello, y'all! I know it's been forever since I've updated, and let me extend huge apologies for that! Life has been pretty crazy as I near graduation, and there have been a million volunteer activities, prom, school things, etc. etc. Plus my family has been dealing with some serious illnesses, so that has slowed me down as well. But I have not given up on this story, even if my writers block threatens to make it a bad one... Hopefully y'all will stick with me! My case of writer's block has been rough. It seems that when I'm inspired, I don't have the time to sit down and write, and when I actually have free time to write, I can't get out more than a meager sentence. I'm also still stuck in that pessimistic part of it where I don't like anything I write... Hopefully y'all still enjoy it!_

_I have the next few chapters all planned out, so hopefully it will help me write more. I never really planned for this chapter to be so morose, but it just happened that way. I promise I'll try to curb the miserableness... Haha. _

_HUGE thank you to all who reviewed! I can't convey enough how much reviews help me, and **I can't urge people enough to review**! (Who knew I'd be one of those pesky authors who beg for reviews... Oh well!)_

_Review responses:_

_madameHunterr: Thank you so much! Sorry for keeping you waiting for more!_

_Lilith Marx: That's what happens when I write on an incredible lack of sleep... Hahaha. Thanks so much for pointing that out, it has been fixed! I really appreciate your reviews!_

_Anon: That means a lot, thank you!_

_Vica: Will do! ;)_

* * *

""Be courteous to all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence." George Washington

* * *

CHAPTER NINE

Something had changed.

Yes, something had shifted, Rachel decided. What the feeling was, though, she could not decipher. The cause, however, she could pinpoint easily. It had not been the fact that she crossed a river without great distress, and it was not that Connor had told her something about his past. Witnessing killing hadn't caused it, either. No, instead it had been something seemingly insignificant. It had simply been a smile – a laugh.

Connor was no longer just a temporary companion, he was a friend. No longer did she feel uncomfortable around him, no longer did she feel the need to hold herself back or try to be a lady. As if she even had even the smallest semblance of a lady since he'd known her! She laughed internally, reminded again of how horrified her father would be if he saw her in men's clothes, riding with her legs, hair in a braid plaited by a man's hands.

The wind was brutal, a storm of early summer threatening to make them take shelter. Connor was convinced it would pass them by to the east, but Rachel was unconvinced. Though she loved storms and the adrenaline it sent through her, she was beginning to get fidgety.

"We are halfway to New York City," Connor said quietly. "We should be there within two days, possibly tomorrow if we ride hard once we get the horses back."

"Two days?" Exasperated, she slumped as she walked, taking long dragging steps as if she was a child who had just been told that Christmas was still weeks away. They had already been traveling for so long, and they were not even near New York! She knew the journey would be long, but she had never really thought out how many days it would actually take.

"You were the one who wished to go to Virginia," Connor reminded her wryly.

Turning to him, she stuck her tongue out in response, only to be physically jolted by a lightening strike a bit too close for comfort, as if nature was rebuking her for her action. Rachel nearly jumped off the ground, her heart beating frantically. Connor chuckled quietly, and she gave him a look before laughing herself.

A rustle in the trees caught Connor's attention, stealing the smile from his face.

"What is it?" Rachel craned her neck to look around him, hoping it was just an animal. She wasn't sure she could handle any more attacks right now.

Connor shook his head in response, holding up a hand to silence her as he cautiously stepped towards the greenery. Rachel glanced around as well, hoping to spot any danger that Connor was missing.

Instead, she spotted a familiar mare trotting towards her, happily whinnies filling the air.

"Connor," she whispered, her voice barely audible. As he turned and took in the presence of the horse, his face relaxed and he placed his weapon back into his belt, looking around as if expecting someone to walk out of the trees.

"Where did she come from?"

He opened his mouth to speculate, but a booming voice interrupted him.

"Hello, Connor!" The owner of the voice wore a look of near amusement as he waved his arms, as if to make Connor aware of his location in a crowd. "Figured I was smart for sending the horse ahead," he chuckled.

"Last time I snuck up on him, I landed myself on the ground with a blade to my neck," the man chuckled, addressing Rachel.

A slight smile played at Connor's lips and he shook his head, giving Rachel a pre-apology with his eyes. Of all people to have been sent, it had to be this one. David was a relatively new recruit, a young man with a playful demeanor. Despite his seeming inability to take anything seriously, he had taken well to the techniques of the Assassins and had proven himself to be handy in a battle.

"This is Rachel." As David's eyes roamed her body, he felt a sudden irritation rise within him, though he knew the man had no ill intent.

"Oh, my apologies, miss!" Smiling overeagerly, he took her hand and shook it vigorously. "The name's David. Connor here isn't one for formal introductions, I suppose. It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady." He bowed slightly, eliciting raised eyebrows from Rachel, who looked over skeptically at her companion.

"He's been reading Shakespeare," he said dryly, responding to her look.

"I have found it to be rather enlightening," the man said in his defense. "Despite the fact that the materials were... rather difficult to acquire." He gave Rachel a mischievous wink and a dashing smile, and she was unable to keep from returning the gesture.

Shaking his head, Connor cut to the chase.

He was always so direct, Rachel thought. Connor was never one to prolong something with fancy words or games.

"Why have you sought me?"

Laughter melting away from his features, David stood straighter, rigid with seriousness. He glanced to Rachel, unsure how much he should share in her presence.

"There are urgent things that must be addressed." Hesitation was evident in the manner of his voice and the way his hands, having moved freely with expression before, were now clasped behind his back. As Connor opened his mouth to ask of the severity of the situation, David silenced him with another set of words. "That is not all." Hesitating again, he glanced back to Rachel. "They are seeking her," he said quietly, gesturing towards her.

"Me? What would they want of me?" Neither man addressed her question, both thinking quietly to themselves as she felt waves of confusion.

"Perhaps we should not be discussing this here," Connor said ominously, taking Rachel's arm gently and leading her towards the horse.

Angrily, she ripped her arm away from him, putting her hands on her hips in protest.

"Did you know of this? If you did, so help me God, I will -" Her voice hitched as he raised his hands in defense, and interrupted her before she gave David a poor impression.

"I knew nothing of this. But if what he says is true, it would explain much. No matter the truth of these suspicions, we must return to a more secure place," he explained. The calm demeanor of his voice alleviated Rachel's attitude, but she was still confused. Why would someone be searching for her? Perhaps it was men her father had hired to find her, but if that was the case, why would this man know of it?

Connor felt equal confusion as he helped her to mount her horse, and as he swung his leg up behind her, apprehension began to creep into his heart as he realized he would have to tell her of the brotherhood. There was no way to avoid it now – not if she had been thrown into all of it. She deserved to know, but he wished she didn't have to. It would only bring harm to her and deep within him, that knowledge stirred a fear he had not known for a very long time.

He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, wondering what it was about her that had brought such a feeling forth. It was not a fear for his own life, nor a fear of failure or dishonor, but a far more urgent and important fear – a fear to lose someone of value to him.

* * *

He had expected to see fear in her eyes, perhaps even disdain and judgment as he told her of the the Order – as he told her that he practically killed people for a living. Of course it was much more complex than that, and it wasn't as if he went around slaying innocents, but Rachel had no way of knowing that upon first hearing of it. He wouldn't blame her if she refused to hear any more, refused to continue to allow him as her companion.

The conversation was long, and he told her privately, in a room within one of the Assassin safehouses on the outskirts of New York City. Yet as the words flowed from him and he found himself sharing part of his own journey instead of only explaining what the Order was, he saw only patience and gentleness reflected back at him. She listened carefully, only interjecting with occasional questions to clarify his words. Sometimes, when he glanced at her, she would be looking at him, concern in her features, yet other times she would be looking coldly at the floor, as if something he said had brought up memories in her own mind that she did not wish to experience again.

Some things he still could not share. The details of the death of his mother was still hard to say. Her screams still echoed within his dreams as he had fled. As he had began speaking of the attack on his village, he had paused, putting his head in his hands, unable to continue. It had been so long since he had spoken of it, and though he liked to pretend it no longer affected him, anger still festered within him, tearing at him from the inside. Anger. Guilt. Revenge. It was funny, but he still felt a sense of need for revenge. Though the men responsible for his losses were dead, he still could not shake the carnal need.

Just as he had passed over telling her of his mother's death, so too did he fail to tell her of Kanen'tó:kon, or killing his father, leaving it only at the fact he had ended the life of the Templar Grand Master. When he was finally finished, seemingly hours later, he felt an vast sense of relief. Though through being a man he had been bred to believe feelings were weakness, he had long ago realized that leaving emotions within caused even more harm than the feelings in the first place.

Rachel sat quietly, digesting the information. She knew that he expected her to run scared, and admittedly was surprised she hadn't. The urge to return his trust by sharing part of her own past was undeniably, but she suppressed it. This was not the time. For a few minutes, she debated how to respond in the correct way. She did not want to give the impression that she did not value the part of him he had shared with her, yet she did not know how to correctly share the feeling with him.

When she finally spoke, it was on a whim, and she hoped the words were appropriate. "Thank you," she said gently, looking into his eyes in the hope that he would see that the words held much more meaning than their face value.

"For what?"

"For the explanation of what you do." No, that was not right... It sounded too impersonal. Blushing, she berated herself inwardly for over thinking her words, and forced herself to say what she really meant. "And for your trust," she gently muttered, placing a light touch on his hand. "I am honored that you have bestowed it upon me."

In another context and tone, Connor may have thought she was mocking him, but the sincerity in her voice did not pave the way for doubt. As he took her hand, he was glad he did, as well.

"Thank you for listening well." His gaze was suddenly intense, yet Rachel was unable to look away. Connor let his thumb drift lightly over her knuckles, and Rachel felt a shiver descend down her spine. Silently, she half-heartedly scolded her body for reacting in such a way.

"Perhaps we should continue things in the morning," he offered. It had been a long ride to the safehouse, and he could see the weariness in Rachel's eyes.

Nodding in response, Rachel stood, glancing around the room. It was small, containing only a small table and two chairs, where the two had been sitting, along with a small bed. Connor bid her goodnight, heading for the door.

"Connor," she called involuntarily. When he turned to look at her, she stumbled for words. Why had she called out to him? "Goodnight," she mumbled, making herself busy. Connor smiled in response, slightly amused at her occasionally shy nature.

"Dream well."

It had been so long since she slept alone, with only her own mind for company, and she found herself wishing he was still there. As she drifted into sleep, her heart full, Rachel wondered how her family was faring, and found herself hoping they were well.

* * *

David had been the one to wake her. He had tapped lightly on her door, bidding her to join them downstairs as soon as she was dressed. It didn't take long to make herself presentable, as there wasn't much she could do for her unruly hair and wrinkled clothing.

Connor was bent over a table, studying documents and nodding as she descended the stairs. When her foot hit a creak in the floorboard, he glanced up, standing when he recognized it was her.

"Any news concerning why they are looking for me?" She had spent her first minutes of the morning trying to come up with any sort of theory, but besides one that involved her father paying someone to find her, she had come up empty.

"It seems they may believe you are his lover and may get to Connor by way of you." David stifled a laugh - surely her blush was making her seem like a foolish girl, and she could not have that. Her protests and assurances that it was not the case stayed in her throat as three new figures strode through the door. The one that seemed to be leading the trio looked hauntingly familiar to Rachel, yet she could not seem to put her finger on it. It gave her an uneasy feeling though, and subconsciously she gravitated towards Connor as if her mind and memories were sending her a warning.

"Connor," the spokesman of the three said, nodding his head in acknowledgment. "The job went well, and the Templar cells on the outskirts of the city have been taken care of."

"I am glad to hear it," Connor responded as he approached to introduce the man to Rachel. "This is Rachel. I am escorting her to her brother's home in Virginia."

As the man turned towards her, his smile faded. Shock and recognition flooded his features, and he nearly took a step back. Connor recognized the odd behavior instantly.

"What is it?"

The man ignored Connor's questions, instead addressing Rachel. "Do you not remember me?"

She tilted her head, furrowing her brow in alarm. How did he know her? From where did she know him? She was sure she had seen him before, now that she had gotten a better look at him.

David spoke up then, trying to cut the tension in the room. "What is going on, Miles?"

"Do you not see?" The main flailed his arms towards Rachel. "Can you not see the resemblance? Do you not remember that night?"

This time, it was Connor who did the questioning. "What is going on, Rachel?" His mind could not get past the words of 'that night', and he jumped to conclusions, trying to suppress them before he knew anything.

"I don't know!"

"Rachel, please." She had to know, Connor thought. How could Miles recognize her so easily, yet she could not remember him? "Do not betray my trust."

Rachel shot daggers at him with her glare. How dare he use her own words against her! "I am just as bewildered as you! Do not think for a moment I would stray from the truth in this situation. I am no coward nor a betrayer of trust."

"Explain yourself, Miles," Connor demanded, ignoring Rachel's angry words.

"Can none see the resemblance? Though David and I were the only ones to have seen her, surely you can see that she is obviously the sister of James."

Suddenly, the memories flew back to her and she could place Miles' face. The night her brother had died, he had been there. He had been one that had arrived with her brother, one that had urged her to gather her things and be ready to flee, claiming an attack was imminent.

How confused she had been, a child of but fourteen. She closed her eyes at the memories of her brother storing her and her siblings within a closet when they had spotted horses in the distance. So vividly she remembered the last embrace he gave her, the last urgent whispers for none to breathe a word lest they be heard.

Her breathing was coming quickly now as she was overwhelmed with memory.

"He was one who helped save you the day of the hanging," Miles explained to Connor. As the men conversed urgently, their voices seemed to fade into the background as Rachel began to feel an overwhelming sense of dread.

Suddenly, Connor remembered. It hit him like a ton of bricks – the fresh faced recruit, so similar in features to Rachel that he was beyond shocked that he had not placed the resemblance before. He turned to Rachel, fear of betrayal in his heart. How had she played along as if she didn't know what the Assassins were? Her own blood was part of the Order!

"Rachel, why did you never tell me?"

She ignored his question, staring only in fear at Miles. She had to ask, but she was afraid of the answer. "Are you saying he was part of this?"

"He was part of the Brotherhood, yes."

Her stomach fell so low she was afraid it would drop from her. How could this be?

"You truly did not know?"

Rachel couldn't answer. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. How had she not known? Yet how could she have known?

"I was there when he died, Rachel." Though Miles' voice was soft, gently speaking the words, they may as well have been daggers within her. "I was there when they killed him."

Physically shaken, she closed her eyes, trying to shut out his words. She couldn't hear of this – she wouldn't! "I was there when we killed those who did it. Isaac, Samuel and I."

Her eyes flew open as she stumbled backwards, mind going back to her brothers arriving home bloodied, not long after James' death. They had claimed it was a wild animal, but now... The truth had been revealed. They had killed. Her brothers were killers. It was one thing to think of Connor taking a life, but to think of her own brothers... She couldn't fathom it, yet the truth of it was irrefutable.

She wanted to throw up, but her chest, heaving with the beginnings of sobs, would not let anything pass.

"I think that's enough," Connor mumbled quietly in the background. Miles apologized fervently, but Rachel was no longer listening. She had to get out of here - she would not break down in front of these men. Refusing to do it, she strode from the room, running outside and into the fresh sunlight.

The shaking took hold of her as she wrapped her arms around herself, trying desperately to calm her mind. It had been so long since she had remembered that day, and now this man was forcing her to relive it all. And the thought that she had not even known the truth of her own family! How could this be?

So disturbed was her mind that it never registered Connor's voice calling out after her. Only when his hand gently gripped her arm did she recognize the fact that he was there. He could not see her like this... He would think of her as a weak and emotional woman, would lose respect for her. Willing the tears away by trying to replace them with anger, she ripped her arm away.

"Don't touch me," she screamed, tears dropping onto her jacket faster than she could wipe them away. As Connor's hands gripped her arms in attempt to steady her, she thrashed about, trying with all of her strength to rip herself from his grasp.

Despite the calming words he whispered, she still protested. "Leave me alone!" Begging for him to leave her to deal with her grief and the betrayal she felt alone, she repeated herself, screaming curses at him before again insisting that he go. "Leave me!"

"No." His voice was unwavering, and the simple word threatened to undo her. Any composure she still retained seemed to melt away, yet along with it went any fight she had left. Collapsing to her knees, she let go.

Connor stared down at her, hand still lingering on her shoulder. He debated whether to grant her wish and let her grieve in peace, but by the way she had wrapped her arms around herself, he was unable to. He sank down beside her, pulling her shaking frame into his chest. Lifting a hand to her hair, he did his best to provide whatever comfort he could.

Slowly, she relaxed within the protection of his arms. Clenched fists opened and slid around him as she tried to force the sobs to subside, still not wanting to seem a mess of emotions in front of him. She wanted him to see her as strong, but surely this would make all images of that disappear.

Wanting to tell her that it was okay, he opened his mouth, but closed it again with the knowledge that it wasn't, and she knew it. So instead of whispering useless words to her, he simply held her, hoping to give comfort by way of companionship.

As the outer form of her distress waned, the inner tumult only swelled. How deep was her family in this? Her father? Her other brothers? Were they involved, too? It was likely, especially as she recalled Connor implying that fathers often passed the Order onto their sons.

Though it explained some things – her brother's disappearance, her other brothers' many "hunting accidents," she still could not grasp the fact that everything she had known, everything she had thought, had been none other than a facade. As her world crumbled, she clung to the man embracing her, holding on in hopes that she, too, would not turn into something she no longer recognized.

* * *

_If you enjoyed it, hated it, have suggestions or noticed something weird, please review! _

_New OCs/OCs from a few chapters ago:_

_James Beeson: Rachel's elder brother, who was an Assassin killed by Templars._

_Isaac Beeson: Rachel's elder brother, affiliated w/ the Assassins._

_Samuel Beeson: Rachel's elder brother, affiliated w/ the Assassin._

_Miles Carter: An Assassin with rank, who was friends with James and was captured with him._

_David Shaw: A new recruit of the Colonial Assassins, although he has been affiliated with them for a number of years._


	11. Chapter 10

_A/N: Hello, ya'll... This has been a common theme of my last few chapters, but I'm SO sorry for not updating in so long! I just got really disenchanted with this story and lost my writer's muse, and was literally stuck trying to write the same paragraph for a month. However, I am glad to say that I think I have revived my urge to tell this story, and I hope none of you have lost your willingness to read it! :) Unfortunately, all I have for you is this meager and rather short chapter, but now that I'm back on track, I hope to have more for you soon! Review responses will be at the bottom._

* * *

"Adversity is the first path to truth." Lord Byron

* * *

CHAPTER TEN

"Use his strength against him," Connor instructed as Rachel tried to free herself from a captor's grasp. She had explained to him that she no longer wanted to be defenseless and wholly dependent on him for protection, and had practically begged him to teach her. Weapons were out of the question – not only would it take far too long to train her how to use them effectively, but she seemed quite put off by the idea of wielding a sword. He had settled on teaching her evasive movements, so that at least she would be able to escape a potential attacker more easily.

Twisting and turning in one motion, she wrenched herself away from David, who was playing the part of an enemy so she could improve her skills. Success on her face after she had evaded him, Rachel smiled, giving a small triumphant laugh as David eagerly gave her shoulders a squeeze. He laughed with her, saying something quietly to her that Connor couldn't make out. What he did see, though, was the blush that spread over her face at his secret words.

Brow furrowing in annoyance, he made his way over to them, intent on breaking up their closeness.

"I believe Miles has some information to share with you, David."

Nodding, David bowed deeply to Rachel, eliciting a musical laugh from her lips. Connor rolled his eyes at the boy's behavior, but decided not to be too hard on him – dramatics and jests were just his way.

"Are we finished for the day, then?" Rachel asked, putting one hand on her hips as she raised the other to shield her eyes from the bright assault of the midday sun.

"Not quite," Connor responded. "David is one thing, but there are those with more practiced hands that would seek to do you harm."

"What is it you suggest?" She knew where this was going, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. Surely she would make a fool of herself, and that was the last thing she wanted to do in front of him, especially after how emotional she had been yesterday.

"That you practice against such hands." The comment chilled her slightly, and she looked down for a moment, remembering how mercilessly he had slaughtered those Templars that day by the river.

But he had been provoked, she reminded herself. Besides, it wasn't as if they were innocents or unarmed. Still, Rachel didn't deny the chill that settled on her when she remembered what he was capable of, though she knew he would never harm her or anyone who did not deserve it. Connor was far more honorable than other men she knew, like Thomas or her father, who, despite never taking a life, ruined many anyway.

"Alright," she agreed finally, looking back up at him.

"You can likely outwit our out-step many opponents, but if that fails..."

He came at her then, without warning. Instantly, her eyes shifted to his feet, tracking where they intended to go. Barely missing his outstretched hands, she sidestepped him. Connor nodded in approval before lunging again, grabbing her from behind and earning himself a hard elbow in the gut and a stomp on the foot. He hadn't expected her to actually make hard contact, and reflexively jumped away, holding his side. Though the elbow was slightly misplaced and wouldn't have been close to actually stopping him in battle, it was a fairly good shot, and he grunted in response.

Rachel turned, a triumphant smile on his face, but when she turned and saw his hand at his side, she was concerned that she had actually done damage. Slender hands flew to her lips, covering them as she apologized.

A slight smile playing on his lips, Connor held up a hand. "It is nothing," he said with the smallest trace of a chuckle. "You would have to do much, much more to actually bring me down."

Crossing her arms, Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I am weak?"

"Perhaps," he said in return, enjoying the tormented look his jesting had put on her face. "Here," he said softly, approaching her. Sliding behind her, he draped his left arm across the front of her, securing her shoulders.

Rachel felt the blush creeping up her neck and was suddenly grateful that Connor could not see her face. Oblivious to the effect he was having on her, Connor kept up with his instruction, arm gently taking her wrist and guiding her elbow back into the precise spot that would do the most damage.

"It hurts worse if you place the impact here. Do you see?" Suddenly, the last thing Rachel could think about was where her elbow would inflict the most damage. A streak of bravery was beginning to course through her, and she turned her face towards him.

Connor had been so focused on teaching her the correct techniques that it was a few moments before he noticed that she was not going to respond. Bending his head slightly downwards, he caught a glimpse of her face, which was tilted up towards him. Abruptly, they both realized how close they were to each other. He could feel her breath, warm and sweet on the hollow of his neck as it escaped her red lips. Though he had been aware of her beauty before, now it seemed to overwhelm him. Perhaps she held only average beauty in the conventional way, but there was something in her eyes, something in the way she held herself that made her seem so alluringly lovely. Perhaps it was the way her hair caught red tones in the sunlight as it tumbled down her shoulders, or the stubborn defiance that occasionally rose in her eyes. Whatever it was, it had made itself known to Connor.

Slowly, she seemed to lean in closer, raising onto the tips of her toes, raising her lips closer to his. Closing her eyes, she felt nothing but him – the heart beating steadily against her back, the arm gently yet sturdily holding her to him, his breath whispering across her skin. Just as she was sure he would kiss her, she felt his arm sliding away as he stepped back, leaving her to feel both rejected and ashamed. _Why_ had she done that? Cursing her impulse, she didn't turn to face him, too embarrassed to look upon his face.

"I... I think there is much to do in preparation for our departure," he stammered, struggling with an excuse.

"Of course," she said in a small voice, arms folding. She turned her face slightly, but did not turn, and Connor took that as his signal to go. As he walked away, he shook his head, the look of embarrassment on her face refusing to exit his mind. He had not meant to make her feel that way, but something in him had made him retreat, though he wasn't sure exactly what.

It had been so long since he had given his full trust to someone, and that particular thing had become especially hard for him after those he had trusted had either died off or betrayed him. To kiss her would be to trust her completely, and Connor doubted that he could anymore. Sure, he trusted her to an extent... Just as he trusted Miles and David and the rest of the Assassins, as well as those on the homestead. But it was a half-hearted trust, a trust where doubts always hid. Always in the back of his mind was a warning not to do it, lest the person betray him or be lost to him. Belonging to the Brotherhood did nothing to help the matter, but it was just something he had to sacrifice to accomplish his goals.

Sighing, he went to find Miles, hoping to make himself busy and forget about what had transpired. Despite his better judgment, he looked back, only to see Rachel still staring off into the distance, arms wrapped around herself as she closed her eyes, oddly enough wishing for home.

* * *

"If my father is not an Assassin, how did my brothers join the Order?"

"I don't know," Miles admitted. It had been a long afternoon explaining the events of James' death and the avenging of it. Rachel had many questions, understandably, but remembering the events had made him weary – it had been a long time since Miles had thought so much about his old friend, and it saddened him. "Isaac had been recruited before I came to the Order, and I believe he led James there, but Isaac never explained how he had come to be part of the Assassins."

Rachel sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. Everything was so jumbled and chaotic within her head as she tried to sort things out. Miles had explained that James had shown much promise as an Assassin, picking up skills extremely quickly, and therefore was sent to the top of the list as a danger to the Templars.

Rachel still recalled the day vividly. She had been so excited to see James, who she thought had been fighting in the Continental Army, but in fact had been training with the Assassins. Isaac had orchestrated the reunion, as James and their father were not on good terms. It was secretive and exciting, and the day had been long awaited, but when she finally saw James approaching the house, it was with a stranger, and his face had seemed anxious and imperative. He had urged his siblings inside, but not before other strangers had arrived.

They had killed him right in front of her.

And a few days later, when Isaac and Samuel had returned bloodied and grim, they had chalked it up to a pack of wolves, but now Rachel knew the truth, and it made her feel as if she didn't know her own family.

Miles had told her that Samuel, still hungry for revenge, had joined the Assassins as well, anxious to avenge his brother. To this day, Samuel was still part of the Order, something Rachel was surprised at – he hid it well. Isaac had left long ago, disowned by their father after an argument. He had moved south with his wife and young family, and Rachel had not seen him since. She had often wondered how it would be between them when she showed up at his doorstep, but in her heart she knew that Isaac, of all her siblings, would understand why she had to get away from that house. So many questions plagued her... So many questions only Isaac could answer.

The creak of a door distracted her from her thoughts. As she looked up, she met the eyes of the one person she had been trying to avoid.

"Rachel, may I speak with you?"

Nodding, she looked at the table, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Miles, taking the cue from Connor, lay a hand on Rachel's shoulder as he left.

"I'm sorry for putting all of this on you," he said quietly.

"It's alright," she whispered. "Better that I find out now rather than later, I suppose."

As soon as Connor heard the door close, he took the seat across from her. The silence in the air was stale and uncomfortable, and Connor cleared his throat as he tried to think of what to say. He had planned out every word, but now, sitting across from her, he was unable to think of any of them.

"Rachel..."

"You do not have to say anything," she said quietly, still looking at her hands in her lap.

"I am sorry," Connor responded, failing at conjuring the words that would make her understand. "I didn't mean to-"

"Look," Rachel said, glancing up at him. "You don't have to apologize. It was entirely my fault. I should not have gone there."

Connor did not respond, only looking at her. When Rachel realized he would say nothing in return, she rose from her seat. She should have known that each brave streak never ended well for her. Now, everything between them had changed, and it was all due to her foolish impulse.

"I think it is best that we separate," she finally said. Connor looked up at her, mouth opening slightly as if in protest. "Thank you for all you have done for me."

Turning, she tried to keep the tears from stinging her eyes. Why was she crying? Such a foolish, idiotic girl! Cursing her tears, she kept her stride as she approached the door, not stopping even as she heard the wooden chair scrape across the floorboards as Connor stood.

"Rachel..."

She did not pause.

"Rachel, wait!"

She closed the door gently behind her, and though half of her expected Connor to come bursting through it, it stayed closed.

* * *

_Review responses:_

_CarlyO'Brien and madameHunterr: I'm glad you guys liked it! Sorry to have disappointed you on updating soon!_

_ .Pt: Thank you SO much for your review! Reviews like this really help keep me going! It's actually this review that made me force myself to get back to this story, so good for you. :)_

_Sarafinja: I toyed with the idea for a while, but I'm not sure Conner is really the type for jealousy. Perhaps a little bit later we can work it in, though... ;)_


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: Well, look what I have for ya'll! Two chapters in 24 hours! :) Since I wrote this so fast, I'm not really sure I'm happy with how it played out, but at this point, pining after perfection isn't going to do this story any good. And so, I shall just let it be. :)

* * *

"There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true." Søren Kierkegaard

* * *

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The chair skidded across the room, set in motion by an angry foot. What an idiot! It was a shame that the skills he had learned in the Assassins did not include how to handle women, because in that respect, his repertoire was quite meager. Sighing loudly, he sat down again, putting his head in his hands.

Perhaps this wasn't so bad. Rachel had done nothing but cause him trouble, anyway!

No... That wasn't true. Grunting in frustration at his attempts to justify what he himself had set in motion, he sat back in the chair, crossing his arms. It was her choice to leave, though, and why shouldn't he let her? She had refused to let him talk anyway! Let her deal with the consequences!

Images of her forced their way into his mind, then, challenging everything that told him not to go after her. He pictured the look that had been on her face as she stepped into that boat with him, terrified yet trusting. Why couldn't he trust her in the same way?

He sat there for a while, weighing his options – whether to stay here, or to follow her. After a while, he realized he only had one choice.

Standing quickly, he sprinted through the door, grabbing the few things he had and securing them to his horse.

"What the hell is going on," David asked, utter confusion on her face.

"Rachel left. I have to follow her."

"Oh, I see," David said with a wink, patting Connor on the back.

"It's not like that," Connor insisted, despite the ever growing doubts in his own mind. Miles, who had come up to them as well, raised an eyebrow, and Connor did his best to ignore it.

"Well, we all agree that you could do with some lovin'. Might make you a little less of a hard ass."

Of all the times for David to make jokes, this was not the opportune one...

Connor mounted his horse, securing the reins in his free hand as Miles clutched his friend's arm in goodbye.

"Good luck, my friend."

Nodding in response, he urged his horse forward, only to hear David call out again.

"Go chase your girl," he yelled mischievously, earning a punch in the arm from Miles.

"I told you-" Connor said in response, still close enough to be heard.

"I know, I know," David said defensively, holding up his hands in concession.

Rolling his eyes, Connor urged his horse into a sprint.

* * *

Loosening the reins, Rachel allowed her horse to slow down. The poor thing had been sprinting for a long while, and the mare's huffs and puffs were becoming more strained. Rachel ran her hand along the softness of the mare's neck, sighing forlornly.

It had been stupid of her to run away like that, and she knew it. _Just add it to the list_, she thought, laughing to herself bitterly. But this time she was truly on her own – Connor wouldn't be coming back for her, that she knew.

She would be alright, though. She had to be. It couldn't be much further to New York now, and once she was there, it would be easy to blend with the crowds, find her uncle who was almost always there on business, and be sent along to Baltimore. From there, it was an easy route to her brother's.

Everything she had left home for was in reach – freedom, family, answers... Yet why did she feel as if she was leaving something so important behind?

The rustling above drew her away from her thoughts, but she hardly had time to think of a reaction before she was knocked off her horse, flat on her back on the ground and straddled by a stranger, knife to her throat. Spotting a hunting blind above, she figured he must have been waiting for an animal to walk by and spotted a different kind of prey instead.

"Well, well," he said in a low voice, "Wot do we 'ave 'ere?"

"An uneducated swine that prays on innocents? Or just another man who lets his cock rule his actions? You take your pick."

"'Ay! I don' like none of that backtalk, missy."

"A shame," Rachel said with a small smile. "I always enjoy good banter."

For some reason, fear had not yet taken hold of her. Perhaps it was that she had become hardened to such occasions, or maybe it was the little training she had gotten, but whatever it was, she knew she would not die today.

"Well I know wot I'm gonna enjoy," he whispered, a sick smile on his face as he moved his knife lower, as if to cut open her clothes.

His eyes drifting downward was the exact moment she needed. Jamming a finger in the man's eye, she kicked him off, giving him a good stomp in the groin for good measure before sprinting to her horse. She hadn't even swung her leg up all the way when she heard the telltale stomps of an approaching horse. Just as she had begun to urge her mare forward, she turned, only to see Connor flying to where the man was writhing in pain on the ground.

"Don' 'urt me," the man cried, one hand at his eye and the other at his stomach. "I swears, I was just seein' wot this one was doin' in my forest!"

"If I see you again..." Connor threatened, clutching at the collar of his jacket.

"You won't! I swears to it! I ain' no fool!" After a short moment of consideration, Connor let go, giving him a cold glare as the he limped away, sending curses in Rachel's direction.

As soon as he was out of view, Connor turned towards Rachel, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal.

"I suppose the training worked."

"Yes, I suppose it did," he said with a laugh.

"So..." Unsure of what to say, Rachel pulled her hair to the front, twisting it around her fingers in anxiety. "You followed me?"

"I did not intend to embarrass you," he said quietly, after a few moments of silence. Rachel sighed, wishing he hadn't brought it up again.

"Can we just forget about it?"

Connor nodded in response, moving to retrieve supplies from his pack, having noticed that she had gotten a cut on her forehead.

"Sit," he told her, motioning to the ground. "I must clean your wound."

"It is fine," she breathed, only to be proven wrong when her fingers came back dripping blood. Body numbed by adrenaline, she hadn't even noticed she had gotten cut, and was unable to even remember the moment it had happened.

As Connor sat across from her, gently working on the gash over her forehead, she tried not to meet his eyes. They were almost as close as they had been during training, and though Connor was intently working on her forehead, it made her uncomfortable, especially after the events of the day before.

"So," she began, trying to break the awkward silence between them. "Why did you come? Concerned for a woman traveling alone?"

"No," he responded, still working on the gash. "I was concerned for a friend."

Such simple words, yet they made Rachel's stomach tighten, made her cheeks grow hot – how often that was happening these days!

"Why do you always say things like that," he inquired, still not meeting her eyes.

"What do yo mean?"

"You always assume that I value you differently because you are a woman."

"It is how I was raised," she said simply. "Men make all the decisions, have all the power. A woman is nothing but a meek temptress, who must be helped and guided all her life. She has no power, no right to anything, no future unless a man gives her one."

Finally, Connor looked away from his work, and into her face. She was not looking at him, but he didn't need to see her eyes to see the pain there. If that was how she truly felt, it was no wonder she had run away from home.

"That is not how I was raised," he said matter-of-factly. Rachel raised her eyes, surprised at this newest development. As Connor got back to his work, he continued. "My mother gave birth to me and raised me without the help of any man, and in many ways, I feel I am better for it. In my tribe, women are given the utmost honor and respect. They hold many leadership positions, and it is them who pass on their clan to their children. A man leaves his house and clan, and becomes part of his wife's."

Rachel considered this, but did not respond. Certainly, she had expected Connor to be the same way as other men she knew. Even her brothers, who treated women well and with respect and reverence, would not necessarily agree with how Connor's tribe lived.

She was deep in thought as Connor finished, wrapping a bandage around her head. He watched her for a moment, watched the emotions transform her features. Suddenly, he was struck with how it must have been for her to live like that – a way that seemed so foreign and odd and unfair to him. Just another reason he knew he would never truly fit in with the colonists – but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

When Rachel looked up, she caught Connor watching her intently. A hand gripped her heart then, threatening to rip it out of her chest as his dark eyes seemed to bore into her.

Impulsively, he let his thumb brush across the skin beneath the bandage, just above her brow. Closing her eyes, she tried to steady her breathing, even as his hand ran down her temple, her cheek and jaw, finally resting under her chin. Refusing to open her eyes, she sat still as stone as she felt him tip her head slightly back, felt him lean closer...

She flew to her feet then, mumbling something about making sure her horse hadn't run off. As soon as she had gotten up, she regretted it. Hadn't she been the one to try to kiss him first? And now, when he was going to do just that, she pulled away? Sighing at herself, she mounted the horse.

"We should get going," she said quietly, embarrassment again flooding her face with heat.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Connor raised himself from the ground . He had been surprised when she pulled herself away, but perhaps he had deserved it.

As Connor made himself busy repacking his things, Rachel stole a glance, heart still hammering in her chest. His affection should have given her confirmation, should have extinguished her doubt and embarrassment, but instead it only confused her even more. It was draining, not knowing where they stood. They were more than just temporary companions. More than just friends, even, but how much more, she was not sure.

In all honesty, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. What would it lead to, anyway? Soon she would be at her brother's, and Connor would go back to doing whatever it was he had been doing before. In time, they would only be a memory to each other. It was how it had to be...

Connor mounted his horse, and Rachel followed suit. As they rode south, she tried to keep her eyes from him, tried to keep her mind from imagining silly, foolish things.

The two of them would never be an option. They _couldn't_ be an option. It had to be that way.

Right?


	13. Chapter 12

_A/N: Sooooooooooooo I kind of wrote this chapter backwards and rushed through the middle, so I apologize in advance for spelling/grammar errors, bad flow, etc. I didn't even re-read it through, so I'm going to fix it a bit later, but I just wanted to get this chapter out ASAP since it's been a while. I'm still struggling with finding inspiration for this story, and I am determined not to give up on it and actually finish a story for once in my life! Haha. Anyway, PLEASE leave reviews! We're almost at 5,000 hits on this story and there's only 20 some reviews... I think we can do better than that. ;) Although be gentle on this chapter, it's far from my best._

_I'll definitely be editing soon. Hope you enjoy anyway. :)_

* * *

"Love is a force more formidable than any other. It is invisible - it cannot be seen or measured, yet it is powerful enough to transform you in a moment, and offer you more joy than any material possession could." Barbara de Angelis

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE

The first time they had run into the Templars, it had been worrisome enough. When it was over, Rachel had demanded they go back, especially after watching Connor narrowly miss a bullet, having dodged away just in time for it to graze his arm lightly. He had brushed it off, though, insisting he could handle anything they came across.

Now, though, he wasn't so sure. As a second set of Templars approached, this time more numerous, more aggressive, more determined...

The two on horseback systematically cut them off, halting the steed beneath Connor and Rachel. They were surrounded, and Rachel tightened her grip on Connor, fear forcing its way into her quicker than she was able to turn it away.

Suddenly, she felt rough hands on her waist, pulling her from the horse, ripping her arms from Connor as she let out a surprised yelp. She fell to the ground with a loud thud, breath exiting her lungs from the impact. Her body braced, preparing for an assault of some kind, but none came. As she rolled onto her stomach and propped herself onto all fours, she struggled to regain her breath and find Connor's white robes somewhere within the mass of other bodies.

Just as she began to gain control of her senses, she was dragged to her feet, a hand flying to her forehead as he pressed her against him. The metal of the gun was cold against her forehead as she forced herself to steady her breathing, refusing to give any of these men the satisfaction.

"Assassin," the man yelled from behind her, voice cryptic and dark.

Finally, she saw Connor. Though his hood concealed most of his face, the tensing of his jaw and the stance he took conveyed his anger.

The man behind her clucked his tongue, mocking him. "Now, now, don't make me kill her. She's worth much more to me alive."

Connor took a step forward, as if to retrieve her, but the hold on her only tightened.

"Ah ah ah," the man warned. "I won't hesitate."

"Nor will I," Connor finally said. "Release her, or I will kill you."

"Then we are at an impasse," the voice behind her said sadistically. "The cards are in your hands, Assassin."

Rachel would have rolled her eyes, if there hadn't been a gun to her head. Here she was again, used as a bargaining chip for another man's power.

At that point, she had enough.

The man's grip on the gun was light, likely due to his overconfidence. If she hit his hand in the right way, she was sure she could knock it away. But if she didn't...

It was risky, but it was the only way she saw to get out of it. The only way to give Connor a chance.

Before she could second guess herself, she threw her hand up, finding the barrel of the gun and forcing it upwards as she sunk in his grasp. Even as she focused on her own struggle, she could hear metal on metal in the background, and she knew Connor was fighting again.

"You little bitch," the man before her said, searching the ground for his gun momentarily before giving up, lunging at her instead.

His body weight knocked her to the ground easily, hands quickly finding her neck.

"You know," he whispered, leaning close to her as she choked. "I am likely going to be in trouble for killing you, but it's worth it," he laughed.

Just as her vision began to blacken around the edges, she heard a loud pop, and he fell limp on top of her. Gasping for air, she managed to crawl out from under him, hand rubbing the soreness on her neck as she scooted against a nearby tree, ears ringing and breaths stinging her throat.

Connor was still in the midst of battle. Many lay dead at his feet, but five were still converging on him. Two went down easily, but with three left, it oddly became more challenging. They seemed to work easier against him, cornering him and countering each blow he made.

Rachel, finally having recovered somewhat, sat a little straighter, eyes locked on the white of Connor's hoods, praying he would come out unscathed, and thankful that the remaining men had taken little notice of her.

Two left.

Connor tripped one, delivering a bone crunching knee to his abdomen as he turned to the last one. Sword against tomahawk, metal clashed loudly as Rachel watched helplessly.

It was merely by luck that she noticed the other man getting to his knees, pulling a gun from his belt. As she watched with horror, she searched the ground for the gun that had been used against her, finally spotting it almost halfway between her and the gunman.

Crawling awkwardly, she finally managed to scamper towards it, hands fumbling as she tried to pick it up. The man aimed. Connor, still intently fighting the remaining man, had is back towards them.

Rachel prayed the gun in her hand was loaded, and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot startled the last Templar, and Connor used the opportunity to deliver a hidden blade to his heart. As soon as he was sure the man was taken care of, he turned, eyes searching for Rachel.

She dropped the gun, hands shaking, tears finally threatening her eyes. Her eyes were locked on the limp body before her, unable to look away even when Connor knelt to her side, hands checking her for any injuries.

"Rachel," he said loudly, as if trying to yell through a wall between them. "Rachel! Are you alright?"

"I killed him," she said finally, pulling her knees in. "I killed him.

Connor slid his hood down and pulled her face towards his, so that he was sure she was looking him in the eye.

"That man delivered nothing but pain onto this earth. The world is better without him."

Rachel nodded, but though she knew his words were true, it didn't halt the painful shock of it, the regret and the feeling she was a murderer.

Suddenly, she felt as if she was going to be sick. Turning onto all fours, she gagged, stomach heaving as she emptied her meager breakfast onto the forest floor. The only comfort was Connor's hand on her back, oddly reassuring.

When she was finally done, she collapsed onto her back, groaning in exhaustion. She was a mess; her throat still burned, the skin on her neck still throbbed, and the soreness in her back from hitting the ground so hard was finally making itself noticeable.

"Here," Connor said gently, grabbing hold of her neck as he tilted it backwards and poured water into her mouth, which she gulped down gratefully. As she tried to sit up, head throbbing, she caught sight of Connor's face; never had she seen him look so concerned.

"I'm fine," she insisted, strangely uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, as if she was some helpless puppy.

Then, she almost laughed, because helpless puppy was the precise word to describe the horrid state she was currently in.

"Maybe we should stay here for a while," he proposed, still not liking the look of her pale,clammy skin.

"No!" Her voice broke as she protested, voice still hoarse from her earlier escapade. Involuntarily, her eyes glanced to the bodies that littered the forest floor and betrayed the reason she couldn't stay. When Connor saw the look that again passed over her face at the sight of the man she had shot, he decided they would go back to the safe house. It was only a few hours ride, and Rachel was in no condition to continue forward. A cot under a roof would be much better for her than sleeping in dirt under the trees, and so he scooped her up, transporting her to the horse.

Normally, she would have protested, but she was far too exhausted to care. Instead, she only leaned her head into him, wishing to do nothing but sleep.

As he helped her onto the horse, he was again worried by how weak she seemed. He made her drink more water before they left, and her parched throat was more than willing to receive it.

Leaning back against him, she quickly fell asleep, despite the lurching of the horse. Connor sighed, troubled by the day's events more than he wanted to admit. What had bothered him most was the fact that the one man had almost implied that he had been told to take Rachel back alive – as if he hadn't been there for Connor at all.

There was definitely more to this story, and he wasn't liking where it was going.

For now, though, he focused only on getting them back to the house, where at least Rachel would be able to rest easier. As he led the horse forward, he tried not to think about how easy and natural her body felt resting against him.

When they finally arrived to the cabin, Rachel was awake and seeming to be better, but her hands were still shaking and she still seemed weak. When he barraged her with questions, she insisted it was nothing sleep couldn't fix.

After changing into a pair of leggings she had found rummaging through the drawers and cutting off the sleeves to a large shirt she had found in order to better sleep in the oppressive summer heat, she fell into the cot, sleep claiming her instantly.

* * *

It took her brain a few moments to realize that Connor was no longer in the room. The cot he had been laying on was empty, the blanket folded back in a slapdash manner, the form of the pillow still holding an indention of where a head had been. Fueled by both curiosity and worry, Rachel found herself slipping out of her own cot, hoisting her exhausted body to its feet as she tiptoed across the room to lay a hand where he had slept. The fabric was still warm to the touch, so he couldn't be far, assuming he had gone somewhere in the first place. Of course he hadn't left her alone here, of that she was sure. Even so, Rachel was still worried, her mind going first to the worst assumptions as she peeked outside.

Almost instantly, her heartbeat calmed as she saw him standing there unharmed, though concern was still thick in her stomach. Perhaps it had been simple enough that he could not sleep because of the heat... Even despite falling into sleep, it had been restless, and she had woken multiple times sweating or trying to kick the blankets away.

As she opened her mouth to call his name, her tongue was stayed by the realization that the moonlight was glinting off of his _bare_ skin. Indeed, he was shirtless. It was only practical given the aggressive temperature – even she had cut off the long sleeves of the shirt she had found, and had she not been traveling alone with a man, perhaps she might have even forgone the leggings she was wearing underneath them.

The blush was undeniable – though none would be able to see it in the dark of the night, she felt it easily. It was oddly funny to her that a man's bare back could cause her so much embarrassment even when he did not know she had seen him.

It was improper for her to be out there, to be... staring at him. Even so, there was something in the way he was standing there, arms crossed as he looked up at the sky, that kept her from turning back. The next few minutes were spent deciding how best to get his attention. Connor was easily startled – that she had picked up easily in their time together – and everything she could think of ended with him throwing her onto the ground out of pure instinct.

In the end, she decided calling his name from a distance would be safest.

"Connor," she whispered into the moonlight. To her relief, he heard her the first time, turning to face her, hard features softening as he wondered what she was doing awake.

"Is there something wrong?"

"You tell me," she said as she approached, studying him carefully. "Why are you awake?"

He shrugged, folding his arms and returning his attention to the stars.

"I was too restless."

Nodding in a response he didn't see, Rachel looked up as well, taking in the beauty of the night sky. No matter how many times she saw it, the stars never ceased to awe her.

"It is truly beautiful," she muttered, words caught in her throat. So badly she wanted to ask him what was troubling him, what he was thinking... Instead, she kept quiet – such desires never ended well for her.

Despite the few words that came out of Connor's mouth, despite the facade he often put on when anyone asked if he was alright, Rachel knew that somewhere within him, there was much that he hid. Not only from her, or from others who would help him, but also from himself.

Her eyes turned back to the sky just in time to see a streak across the sky. It was so fleeting, but made her feel as if she had just beheld the most valuable treasure of all time.

"Did you see it?" With an eager voice, she turned to Connor. The slightest smile betrayed the fact that had indeed seen it.

"Have you ever heard the story of the seven dancers?" His voice was suddenly gentle, almost reverent as he spoke.

"No," Rachel responded hesitantly, glancing at him with a skeptical look.

"Some call it the Pleiades, but my people call it tsá:ta nihá:ti tehatinonniáhkhwa. The seven dancers."

As Rachel's eyes combed the sky for the constellation, Connor glanced down at her. Moonlight illuminated her face, throwing tantalizing shadows, making him have to stop his hand from reaching out to touch her. Her hair tumbled across her shoulders, soft waves so inviting to his fingers. Clearing his throat in secret discomfort, he began to speak with the rich voice of a storyteller.

"Long ago, seven young boys formed a secret society so that none would disturb them. They would hold their council fire at the edge of the woods, near the lake in the light of the moon. They elected their Chief, who would play the water drum as the other boys danced. During one meeting, the Chief suggested that they hold a feast, and decided that each boy was to bring something different. The next day, each boy asked his mother for food, but they were all refused. Their mothers told them they had enough to eat at home, and did not need to bring food into the woods. When the boys returned to their council fire that night, they were saddened by the refusal of food, but said 'Never mind. We will show our parents it is not right to refuse us. We shall dance away, without the feast.'"

As he spoke, hand still resting on Rachel's neck, she closed her eyes, the easiness of his voice almost making her want to lean into him.

"The Chief told the other boys not to look back if their parents called to them, but to only look into the sky as they danced. The Chief picked up the drum and began to sing a strong, magical song. As they danced, the boys hearts became light, as did their feet. As the dancing became faster and stronger, they soon felt themselves dancing into the night sky. When their parents saw them above the trees, they called for them to return. When one looked back, he became a shooting star, but the rest continued to reach the sky and become stars of the constellation."

Turning her head to look at him, she wasn't sure what she felt. Though it had been a simple story, it had seemed so intimate a moment. Even in the darkness, Rachel could see the mute sadness in his eyes.

"You miss them," she said quietly, eyes lingering on his face. "Your people."

What he said next was so hauntingly simple, but somehow it hit her in the very depths of her heart where she thought none could reach.

"As you miss yours." Connor glanced at her, noticed the sorrow in her eyes and in the way she bit her lip.

Her stomach twisted with a mix of emotions, and she turned her face away, closing her eyes. His words were unbearably true, and it was unsettling how easily Connor read her, as if he could see into her thoughts. Sometimes, it was almost as if he knew her better than she knew herself. Of course she knew she missed her family, but it was different hearing it come out of his mouth.

When he lifted his hand, he didn't even realize it until it was too late.

He swept her hair behind her shoulder, fingers tucking uncooperative strands behind her ear as he let his hand rest at her neck, thumb running over a sensitive patch of skin. She froze under his touch, not so much from fear as from anticipation and an oddly pleasant anxiety.

Somehow, it was as if the words he had spoken had cast some strong magic over her as the drum had for those boys. Before she even opened her eyes, she slid into his arms, resting her head on his chest, ear at his heart.

"Thank you," she muttered into the heat of his skin, "for all you have done for me." When she tipped her head up to look at him, their gaze met, locking together.

She couldn't remember who had leaned in first, and she didn't care enough to try to think of it. Reason, memories, even the ability for any type of coherent thought was long gone. The feel of his lips, everything she could have imagined and more, was the sole focus of her attention. With one simple kiss, it was as if he awakened a stranger that had been concealed within her for her whole life.

When they finally pulled apart, needing breath to fill their lungs, lips only traveled to different places. As his arms tightened around her, lifting her off the ground, her hands found the back of his head, lips brushing his neck, his jaw, his cheek...

Tilting her head to the side to allow him better access to her own neck, she threaded her fingers through his hair, making him shiver in the oppressive summer heat.

It was exhilarating, to kiss him. The impropriety of it, the forbiddenness... And then, the realization that she had no one to answer to, save God and herself. The thought was freeing, empowering, and gave her a sudden confidence that she had never known. Grabbing his chin, Rachel pulled Connor's mouth back to her own. Beneath her lips, Connor smiled, pleasantly surprised by her sudden aggressiveness.

His hands left trails of heat on her sides, her shoulders, the small of her back, and as she felt her control fading away, she knew she had to pull away. It took several long moments for her body to receive the message, but Connor seemed to have come to the same realization and pulled away slowly before taking her into his arms again. Sighing contentedly, she rested her head against his chest, laying in just the right position to feel his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

It was funny – she should have been mortified at her actions, terrified at the repercussions. After all, proper ladies did not go around kissing men they had hardly known a month. Instead, she felt only a ethereal sense of fulfillment, and an understanding that she would never be the same. No matter what happened from here, she finally understood that she had the ability to take control of her own life, her own destiny; and for now, she was perfectly happy in Connor's arms.

* * *

_Okay, just reread this and the middle is horrendous. Please excuse it, I'm definitely going to fix it within the next few days. Maybe I should have just waited, but honestly otherwise it probably would have turned into a month again like last time, so hopefully y'all are cool with something rather than waiting forever again! _

_Hope summer is being kinder to all you writers than it is me! Haha. :)_


End file.
